


Keep Your Broken Arm Inside Your Sleeve

by Yonderling



Category: Artists RPF, EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Gen, M/M, Magic, Mild Sexual Content, Nudity, Pining, Sparring, implied magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2020-05-30 22:43:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 86,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19412917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yonderling/pseuds/Yonderling
Summary: Finally at peace after a decade of war between their kingdoms, the crown princes of two kingdoms are promised to marry in order to uphold a treaty drawn up by council and kings.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dickenstein](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dickenstein/gifts).



The palace is much as one expects palaces to be: big, ornate, sprawling with more rooms than are ever necessary, and filled with soft footfalls from servants as they scurry about tending to the rich and powerful that call this monstrous estate their home. It is beautiful, objectively, and has lasted through generations of royalty and their court, the staff coming and going without notice, though the good cooks are always remembered when the bad arrive. It has withstood almost a decade of war now, the people seeing the most of the hardship, though a few of the higher nobles have watched the battles or engaged in minor conflict.

Generally, life is nothing but routine and general passing of the time, enough to drive most of those within mad with boredom. Somehow, the princesses never seem to struggle to find something to do, whether it is learning skills or practicing them. Most of them are gone now, married to princes or nobles or some other important man in an important position somewhere so the ‘kingdom may prosper.’ It’s mostly just ceremony, seeing as the marriages don’t actually provide protection or food or a respite from the daily toil of life for most of the people in the kingdom, but it gives the King an easy way to appease those who venture into his court with the potential to threaten his power.

Today marks the first day without war in nearly a decade, and the entire royal court is assembled in the great hall to welcome their now allied kingdom as they march into the city with banners flying and no intent for carnage. The day itself is hot, stuffy and humid, and most of the official robes are high starched and stiff, making it feel hotter and more suffocating than ever in the room. The king, as per usual, sits in his high throne in poor posture, having gone as far as to dress appropriately but clearly not intent on impressing the visiting King. 

“They’re late,” the King grumbles, looking towards his group of advisors and council, who all look a bit nervous as sweat beads at their temples. “Where in fuck are the bastards?”

A few steps away but still in royal presentation, the crown prince resists rolling his eyes at his father’s behavior. Instead, he settles for keeping his gaze affixed on the door at the other end of the room. Supposedly, for the first time since he was dragged from his mother, he might have the chance to leave the palace and the ‘protection’ of his father, a fact that he’s not sure he’s too happy about. However, any relief from being in the constant confinement of this court and the strict regulations and yet constant gossip of how he’s ‘dirty’ would be welcome. Further, it would eliminate any continuing chatter of his worthiness of his title.

Only a child of royal blood can be properly married to another suitable royal in another kingdom, something the King knew quite well when he forgave Jongdae’s bastard status after dragging him from his family into a life of rules and expectations and the title of ‘Crown Prince.’ Overall, Jongdae won’t complain much, considering he’s very aware of how being taken into the royal family meant avoiding the daily hazards of living back in the hovel he had been born into. Disease, for one, had not killed him as a child, nor had starvation and malnutrition, as the palace diet was always rich and consistent, even when the rest of the kingdom starved in war.

Overall, the position Jongdae was dragged into was a tremendous benefit to his person, though the constant treatment of ‘never enough’ had always felt a bit like a double edged sword. Regardless, today is a day when Jongdae is to be exactly as expected, a crown prince meeting his suitor from a kingdom they have only just reached peace with after a decade of bloodshed. It means leaving, as per the terms of the peace treaty between the two kingdoms, as Jongdae will be marrying into their court and supervised, after the union, by the court medicine sage, who will ensure the marriage is prosperous.

It is very clear that, regardless of whether Jongdae likes this arrangement or not, his duty is to accept it and do as is asked of him. “For once,” his tutor had advised him as he aided Jongdae in preparing earlier that day. “Just do what you’re told and don’t open your mouth.”

“It appears there was some unexpected delays in the city,” one of the council members reports, stepping forward in a bow to the king.

“Fancy way of saying they’re taking their damn time,” the King sighs, looking all the less pleased. Before he can continue, however, the door opens and a page enters, announcing the arrival of the King and his court of Pyeongyeon. The king waves them in with a frown, though he straightens in his chair. 

The court from Pianjian walk in elegantly, their robes all of a finer material, thinner and softer looking but with high collars and long sleeves. It looks uncomfortable in this weather, though none of them appear to have broken sweats the way most of the court here in Goyangi have. Of course, Pianjian is farther south, so Jongdae supposes it is only natural that they endure the summer weather better than they do here. The court themselves are all lithe, poised and almost rigid. It is a dramatic contrast to what Jongdae remembers from the times he’d been pushed into battle and witnessed their soldiers in combat. 

Vicious, is the best way Jongdae can describe it. Unlike most battles, the Pianjian battled and fought ruthlessly, with no honor and happily stabbing and killing by any means possible. Their appearance today, of a poised and elegant court is almost jarring to witness, though Jongdae ensures none of his reactions show upon his face. The king, a man in white robes and a thin circle for a crown, steps forward to greet their own King, his face set and unsmiling.

“King Jaejun,” the King of Pianjian, Lu Sai Tian, makes the smallest of bows towards Jongdae’s father. Behind him, his court stares up at the ruler of this kingdom with cool expressions, the young man a few paces behind the King looking almost cold. It is he that draws Jongdae’s attention among all of the visitors they have. Hair pulled high in a knot at the back of his head, he is otherwise unadorned. His robes, a soft pale blue, cascade down around him like cool water, seeming to flow about him to flood the room itself. His face is smooth, pretty, if Jongdae cared to admit, though his eyes are cold, fixed on his father.

From the small diadem resting against his forehead, it is clear that the young man is the Crown Prince, here to claim Jongdae as per the treaty agreed upon by their collective fathers.

Against his better wisdom, Jongdae can’t help his first impression of his intended as that of a cold and arrogant pampered prince. In all likelihood, that is exactly what he is, which doesn’t much improve Jongdae’s sentiments about being married off to him.

However, there isn’t much to do about it, and Jongdae holds back a sigh as he watches the two Kings exchange relative formalities before their respective councils bustle in and take over, drawing up the agreements and explaining the events and banquets and celebratory festivals they’d planned for the King’s visit and the announced marriage between their two kingdoms.

As the council members chatter, dragging both Kings into discussion, Jongdae finds the Crown Prince’s eyes have drifted to his own. _Prince Lu Han_ his mind supplies sluggishly, as if slowed by the summer heat which has only gotten worse. That’s who he’s going to be spending the rest of his life with, supposedly, a prince from a kingdom that had been at war with them for a decade, and a prince who looks about as kind as the steel blades of the King’s personal guard.

“So all that’s left to do, really, is have a wedding,” one of the advisors practically giggles, looking between the two kings with sweat running down to his chin.

“Good,” King Jaejun grunts, looking at King Lu with a disgruntled smirk. King Lu looks, to his credit, unaffected by the behavior, and only the corner of his mouth lifts in a small sneer himself. “Best get these two set up for that. You brought the magic user?”

A man who had stood at the back of the party steps forward now, hastily walking towards the kings. He’s dressed in dark robes that seem to undulate about him, his long hair free to flow out behind him, and his fingers weighed down with heavy looking metal rings and bands. “Your Graces,” he smiles, teeth crooked and yellowing. “I am satisfied to say that, upon consultation as we entered this great hall, both suitors appear to be in good bearing.”

The words settle like lead in Jongdae’s stomach, though he keeps his face calm. Across from him, he sees Prince Lu’s expression falter somewhat, but looks away from him hastily.

“Excellent,” King Sai Tian says, his smirk spreading to show his clean teeth. “Finally, and end to all of this nonsense.”

Watching the discussion continue and feeling the weight of the eyes of the court upon him and the other prince, Jongdae can’t help but to feel the statement a bit bold, considering they’re attempting to achieve what would be considered nonsense. It is rare to ever wed two like-sexed heirs, though the coupling and romancing is widely accepted here, and common folk rarely care much about trivial matters of preference. However, diplomatically, a marriage such as this would be looked upon dubiously, as few have yielded well without appropriate aid.

Eyeing the court healing physician, his dark robes and the air about him giving off a metallic tang that Jongdae associates with ‘magic,’ leaves Jongdae feeling like there is little escape for him. Of course, there had been the possibility that he’d quietly held onto since his father’s intentions for him became known, that the union would fail and he’d be returned to live a life in disrespect for a while until either the King needed him again for some other diplomatic mission or died before the current queen could manage a son and Jongdae would be allowed to live in relative peace.

Now, however, that possibility is farther and farther away, and instead the cool shuttered eyes of Prince Lu gaze back at him under the weight of formal robes and oppressive heat and conduct. Once more, Jongdae feels any hope of a better life slip through his fingers, and resists the urge to sigh, instead resolving to make the best of this as he can. Perhaps it won’t be so bad, living out his life in a foreign kingdom with a husband who at least doesn’t appear as rough and cruel as Jongdae’s own father had been and still is.

At least there’s that, Jongdae thinks, as the council dismisses and he is beckoned to greet his intended. The Crown Prince doesn’t flow across the floor, Jongdae notices, but clearly walks with a slightly heavier gait as he approaches Jongdae. He’s a bit taller than Jongdae is, though doesn’t seem to think much of it. “Your Grace,” Prince Lu says, his voice softer than Jongdae imagined, and slightly melodic, though void of much emotion.

“Welcome to you, Prince Lu of Pianjian,” Jongdae greets formally. “I am glad we may meet at last and anticipate our day of union.”

“Just call it your fucking wedding day,” Jongdae’s father grunts from his throne, watching the exchange with a sour expression.

Jongdae ignores him, but watches Prince Lu’s eyes flicker to the King with a clear note of dislike in them. “I feel the same,” Prince Lu says, but the words sound hollow. _Good_ , Jongdae thinks. _At least we agree on something. That’s a fair start._ Though the Prince’s face looks slightly paled with discomfort and dislike as his gaze returns to Jongdae. It sets a sour taste at the back of Jongdae’s throat. “I hope that the ceremony may hasten so we may move in a direction that prospers for all.”

Odd way of putting it, but Jongdae isn’t about to comment on a culture and country he isn’t well informed of. He imagines Prince Lu also has no idea of his own culture and country, seeing as most of what they know of each other’s homes has come from slander and propaganda during wartime.

“Perhaps the princes would like to retire to the gardens,” the advisor for King Sai Tian proposes, his eyes on the two aforementioned young men and a wide smile on his face that looks false. “I have heard your gardens are simply magnificent. Perhaps Prince Jongdae can entertain Prince Lu with the architecture and some conversation.”

“Yes, go on,” King Jaejun waves them off. 

Dismissed, Jongdae turns to Prince Lu and waits for him to follow. It is awkward, as to be expected, to ask to wander the gardens and make light conversation, but Jongdae figures they’ll have to start somewhere, and it may as well be familiar and simple before it gets as heavy and complex as life always does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't get this out of my head after talking with @ dickenstein so here we go, I suppose. . . 
> 
> The title comes from a Chinese Proverb. The countries and respective Kings are not based on anyone or anything aside from the general idea of 'korean origin' and 'chinese origin' in terms of nomenclature. For reference, King Lu Sai Tian can be written as "鹿賽天" for those wondering.
> 
> This is unedited/unbeta'd and I am unable to truly care. Free literature is exactly what it is.
> 
> Not entire sure how long this will be and will absolutely add warnings/ratings as the content of the story changes and evolves. I hope you enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

Half the kingdom seems to be involved in the wedding. The palace compound itself seems to be at full capacity for the first time in Jongdae’s entire time living there, and the mass of bodies combined with the fires lit for light and ambiance make the place insufferably hot, the humid cloying air of summer made only worse by the close quarters. Of course, Jongdae hasn’t seen much of the excitement, most of his time being prepared for the ceremony where he will be traded politically to another who seems just as enthusiastic about this as he is.

The garden walk with Prince Lu had been quieter than many of the walks Jongdae had led before. Perhaps it was because neither of them had much contribution to their future, the matter already decided by the political leaders of their respective kingdoms and fathers, but it felt like conversation lay far out of reach as they walked slowly through the beautiful gardens. To his credit, Jongdae did attempt to make casual conversation, at the very least naming and identifying the various plants and flowers in the garden for Prince Lu, finding that some of the varietals had actually been imported from Pianjian, back before their wars. Prince Lu answered Jongdae’s simple questions, to his credit, but asked none of his own, instead remaining distant and cool, hands held loosely behind his back as he kept pace with Jongdae through the walk.

Before they had parted upon being summoned back to the court to prepare for the celebrations and ceremony later that day, Prince Lu had thanked Jongdae for the walk and given him a small bow. There was a comment about how he hoped they would become more familiar during their union. It took a significant amount of resolve for Jongdae not to bluntly point out that if they didn’t become more familiar after being married, then something must clearly be wrong with them. However, saying such a thing to his betrothed would not be appropriate, especially in company of consorts and their caretakers.

“You look nervous, Your Grace,” one of the servants remarks, helping Jongdae into his formal robes as another prepares the headpiece that he will be wearing. The attire for the ceremony had been decided to be a reflection of each respective kingdom, meaning Jongdae will be dressed in traditional ceremonial robes and Prince Lu will be in his own kingdom’s finest (supposedly). Jongdae’s robes are a beautiful red and white silk, accented with gold and black threads, weaving intricate patterns and designs along the fabric. 

“Is anyone not nervous on their wedding day?” Jongdae asks the servant, realizing when the man winces a bit that his voice had come across harshly. He sighs, closing his eyes to let go of some of the tension and displeasure that has been hanging about him heavily since the morning. “There’s nothing that can be done, and at least I won’t worry about my robes when I face my future-“ he pauses, thinking of the stiff postured Prince Lu and his distantly cool gaze “-husband.” 

“Don’t sound so excited about it,” drawls from the doorway to the dressing chambers. Jongdae turns carefully, mindful of his robes and decorations, to see the familiar form by the doorway. With a calculating smirk on his face, Junmyeon leans against the doorway of the room, surveying Jongdae up and down slowly. He’s wearing his family’s colors, robes shorter and in the military design, something that will certainly lose favor if their foreign guests recognize them.

“You’re going to get in trouble for that,” Jongdae tells him, nodding towards the robes with a pointed look. “That’s not exactly supporting the peaceful arrangement that has been reached, and the whole reason I’m-“

“Oh, like I care,” Junmyeon scoffs, striding into the room, ignoring the servants as they scuttle to get out of his way. “They killed enough of my families men for me to not forget the blood lost to achieve this ‘peaceful agreement’ and I’m not letting them forget it either.”

“So you’re essentially snubbing my new husband through fashion,” Jongdae summarizes, letting Junmyeon reach up and grasp him gently by the chin. He doesn’t comment as Junmyeon turns his face, examining him. “I hope you won’t be offended then when I pretend not to know you for the rest of the evening. And life, potentially.”

“You look ostentatious,” Junmyeon tells him, stepping back. “It’s rather a waste of a formal robe like that to just be worn so it can be taken off you.”

“Always so delicate,” Jongdae sighs, turning away from his longtime friend. It’s hard to still call Junmyeon a friend entirely though, considering they have been forcefully separated as they grew older. Junmyeon had been his only friend, the only noble son to extend a hand of friendship to him when he was brought into the palace all those years ago. The other noble children had been hesitant, wondering and whispering of the rumors about him. Junmyeon hadn’t cared, and had flatly told Jongdae that if the King said he was the Crown Prince, that’s what he was, and Junmyeon would happily get rid of anyone who bothered Jongdae over it. As they grew older, the court and council became more conscious of how close the two boys were, and disapproved of the Crown Prince being so close with an heir that had a reputation already as being somewhat ruthless when it came to pursuit of power and status among the noble families. They deemed it best if the two boys were distanced, monitored, and that their friendship be stunted. Thus, Jongdae lost much of the friendship he'd been trying to cultivate with Junmyeon through the years and all that came with that bond, primarily skills and practical training. Junmyeon never voiced discontent, though Jongdae sometimes wished he had.

There has never been any reason for Jongdae not to distrust him and whether he would stay true to his world, though there have been plenty of occasions in which Jongdae is certain Junmyeon acted without consulting him to silence negative comments or gossip about himself or those he valued. It never seemed to bother Junmyeon, something which both has Jongdae admiring him and relatively intimidated of him. Unlike Jongdae, Junmyeon was born to understand what power is, how to yield it, and it makes him terrifyingly impressive.

“I’m just saying what no one else will,” Junmyeon points out, his gaze once more sweeping over Jongdae’s fully dressed form. The afternoon is passing into the early evening, and the ceremony will begin soon, soon enough that Jongdae knows his time is significantly limited to exchange banter with an old friend.

“That my biggest accomplishment will be consummating a political marriage,” Jongdae laughs, but his voice trembles slightly. If he notices it, Junmyeon says nothing. A small silence falls, the servants finishing up their work and stepping back. Jongdae’s headpiece has been carefully affixed, and all that is left is to lead him from the room to the ceremonial hall. “We probably won't see each other after tonight. Is that really all you wanted to tell me? ” Jongdae finally asks, his voice coming out too quiet and tense. He’d never been good at hiding his emotions in his voice. Hiding how he feels from ever effecting his expression is one thing, but his voice… 

“I had thought of saying something else, but I forgot it when I saw how many layers you are wearing,” Junmyeon tells him. “They do realize it’s summer, don’t they?” He has a point, and Jongdae already can feel his skin sticking to the layers of fabric wrapped about his figure. It clearly was meant as a joke, but neither Junmyeon nor Jongdae laugh. “I’m sorry,” Junmyeon finally says.

“For what?” Jongdae laughs bitterly. “It isn’t your choice that I do this, or mine, for that matter. No use in being sorry for something-“

“I’m not apologizing, I’m expressing my sympathies that you’re going from one palace to another without ever getting the freedoms I know you have wanted,” Junmyeon cuts him off.

That has the words in Jongdae's throat withering into silence. For the majority of his life in the palace, he has been exceptionally careful (at least after the first few months and their subsequent consequences) to keep his displeasure at being a ‘prince’ and in a place of entitlement silent and hidden. The only person who had seemed to pick up on it was Junmyeon, though he never admitted to it, at least until now. “That’s not-“

“It is true, and I don’t care if it gets back to your father. There’s nothing he’ll be able to do to you after tonight,” Junmyeon interrupts again.

Jongdae smirks a bit. “I could have you flayed for interrupting me all the time like this.”

“You wouldn’t flay a frog,” Junmyeon laughs, and finally seems to loosen up slightly, just enough that his eyes hold some sadness and bleed the emotion he always hides from others. “One of your best qualities; being too merciful.”

“Someone has to balance you out,” Jongdae teases and Junmyeon’s smile is finally genuine. “I’ll miss you,” he admits, his voice shaking slightly as he looks at Junmyeon and allows himself a moment to just take him in.

“I know.” It’s the best Junmyeon will ever truly get to telling Jongdae that he will miss him, as well, that he cares and that this is difficult for him. Sentiment was never a strong suit for Junmyeon, and in situations like this he is typically at his worst, where it’s not all for show and he can fake formalities and sentimentality to maintain and forge alliances with significant members of court. Jongdae wishes it weren’t so late, that he weren’t in his ceremonial robes and could drag Junmyeon into a hug that Junmyeon would never initiate and half-heartedly resist. As it is, Jongdae simply nods to him across the distance between them, hoping his friend understands.

“Your Grace,” a servant interrupts, having arrived at the room with a small escort behind her. She bows as Jongdae turns to her. “They are waiting for you.”

“I believe my duty and husband to be are summoning me,” Jongdae tells Junmyeon, and smiles bitterly as his friend turns and departs ahead of him. It would have been nice to have the company of a friend as he descended to the ceremony, but he knows that would not be approved of, nor allowed, and such behavior and concessions would be taken as insult by the Pianjian company. Joining his escort, Jongdae allows himself to be led from the dressing chambers down to the ceremonial hall.

The walk through the palace compound is lit by small lamps set along the pathways, leading to the ceremonial hall. There is no wind that evening, and the heavy summer air sticks inside Jongdae’s lungs as he walks, the thick robes heavy and stifling to walk in. There are people lining the paths, watching in silence as he leads the escort to the Ceremonial Hall where the Kings, officials, and Prince Lu wait. Typically, to walk from one area of the compound to the other takes only a short time, Jongdae’s gait swifter than most, but tonight it drags, and Jongdae finds himself intentionally slowing his steps, prolonging the inevitable.

It hadn’t occurred to him until now, with the heavy weight of his robes and responsibilities pulling him to the hot earth, how much he did not desire this. True, he has no idea what the future might be like with Prince Lu in Pianjian after their marriage, and perhaps it will be freer than he had experienced in the palace here as the Crown Prince. Perhaps Jongdae will be allowed excursions without constant guard, the opportunity to explore skills and practices that had been in so far forbidden for him, and he would be permitted to engage in a more active role politically. Despite that, there is the very realistic outcome that his life will be much the same, if not more restrictive, especially with being not only a foreigner, but a former enemy in a new country where he is nothing but a political piece in a much larger game. 

Now, more than ever, Jongdae feels less human and more object and tool. Of course, it doesn’t mean he is nothing, far from it, where his life has significant meaning rather than the view of being trash and worthless should he die.

The steps leading to the ceremonial hall are filled with people, their faces all turned to him as he walks towards the building with slow, elegant purpose. It is silence save for the summer cicadas screaming in the trees, a static to focus on rather than the ragged breathing from his own chest. At the entrance to the hall, Jongdae pauses, waiting to be announced and for the procession to commence. There is sweat already running down the back of his neck, sticking his skin to his robes. His feet and hands itch from the heat, the apprehension, and his own discomfort. 

A herald announces his arrival to the gathered crowd and the doors to the hall open, Jongdae looking into the room and feeling the waves of heat billow off those gathered there. At least outside there had been air to dissipate some of the heat from the collected bodies, but inside the hall is practically suffocating, and Jongdae has to force himself to walk with his remaining escort towards the raised dais at the end of the room. With the officiant stands King Sai Tian with King Jaejun, Prince Lu standing and waiting for him, his eyes fixed on Jongdae.

The rest of the guests are in formal robes, not as elaborate as Jongdae’s but that is expected. Prince Lu is dressed in his own kingdoms customary formal robes, or at least Jongdae assumes he is. His garments are not as large and flowing as Jongdae’s robes, rather more similar to the high collared and slim fitting robes he had been in earlier. The colors of his robes match Jongdae’s, the red a little softer and with significantly more embroidery, also gold, that runs along the cloth in twisting beautiful patterns. The expression on his face, however, is much similar to as it had been since Jongdae had first met him, cool and impassive, though his eyes fix on Jongdae and never stray. Jongdae, in turn, keeps their gazes locked, never looking away, as if accepting whatever challenge or remark Prince Lu is attempting to make with his gaze.

Finally mounted to the dais and facing his intended, the ceremony begins around Jongdae. In all honesty, he barely pays attention, his nervousness having melted in the oppressive heat to become the urge to simply get this over with. Hardly registering the dissertation by the officiant and the remarks made by the Kings about what this union meant, Jongdae only paid attention in so far as to do what was expected of him (link hands, accept the binding cloths, give verbal consent and accept Prince Lu’s when it was given), focusing primarily on not losing his posture or breaking eye contact with his now husband. Prince Lu’s gaze doesn’t falter, holding his the entire ceremony, unreadable and unfamiliar as his voice softly utters his own affirmations and consent.

When the ceremony concludes, Jongdae almost sags in relief, finally able to turn to the assembled guests and court and bowing with Prince Lu as a fully recognized married pair, a symbolic union that ensures peace once more. The crowd acknowledges them and they leave the hall in a similar procession to how Jongdae entered, though this time with Prince Lu by his side. They don’t speak, and Jongdae is glad of it, feeling his tongue stuck in his dry mouth and not trusting his voice to remain strong and unaffected despite the circumstances.

The relief of the open air of the compound as they leave the Ceremonial Hall is welcome, and Jongdae lets out a soft breath as the heat that was nearly unbearable lessens slightly. Beside him, Prince Lu lets out a soft sound that might be a sigh, or a laugh, though Jongdae isn’t inclined to ask. They are to lead the guests to the banquet hall, where servants have prepared a celebratory feast in honor of the wedding and the alliance behind it, which the wedded couple are expected to preside over before retiring. The banquet hall is at least a fair distance from the Ceremonial Hall, and Jongdae allows himself to enjoy the respite from crowded suffocating rooms of prying eyes and etiquette.

The banquet hall is well prepared, and Jongdae leads himself and Prince Lu up to the high table where their presiding seats are waiting with the Kings regulatory chairs. When all are assembled, the servants bring in food and drink, laying them about the guests, lending the already summer warm room to slowly build in heat. Seated, at least, Jongdae can tolerate some of the heat, but it is still uncomfortable. Glancing to the side, he sees Prince Lu sitting almost rigidly in his own chair, carefully arranging the food on his plate as if unsure about whether he truly wants to eat it or not.

“It’s good food,” Jongdae tells him, leaning into his space and making his husband startle slightly. Jongdae holds back an amused smile. “Though if you’re not hungry, I’d suggest the cold broths and pickles. They’ll at least calm your stomach and give some relief from this heat.”

For a moment, it doesn’t look like Prince Lu intends to answer him, let alone have listened to him, his eyes fixed on his plate and posture rigid. Then he relaxes a little, lets out a soft sigh, and turns to look at him. There is still that distant and guarded look about him, though now he mostly just appears tired as he meets Jongdae’s gaze. “Thank you,” he says, though it doesn’t sound like he truly wants to be saying the words. “I honestly haven’t been very hungry since we arrived.”

“It’s the heat,” Jongdae excuses. “Nothing worse for the appetite than heat.” Somehow, that seems to amuse Prince Lu, and he smiles as he selects a few pickles from the plates before them, along with a few other traditional delicacies and a bowl of cool broth. “Did I say something funny?”

Still smiling, Prince Lu shakes his head before turning to Jongdae. “I just am thinking that you probably won’t like Pianjian very much if the climate here disagrees with you already.”

“Well, at least I have that to look forward to,” Jongdae says quietly, turning to fill his own plate. The silence from beside him has him pausing though, realizing Prince Lu might have heard his quiet comment. Turning, he finds the prince staring at him, a definite amused twist to the corner of his mouth. It quickly vanishes though, and Jongdae is left staring as his new husband turns and instead eats delicately, selecting each bite and carefully consuming it as if they had never spoken. 

As the noise of conversation and chatter rises in the banquet hall along with the heat, the more silent it feels sitting with Prince Lu while his father engages in raucous debate at his other side. Surrounded by people, Jongdae feels irritatingly alone. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, but still unwelcome and unsettling. As the meal drags on, the hot dishes cooling and the food on the tables being replaced as it diminishes, Jongdae feels the creep of the inevitable crawl along his skin, the sweat still humid against his skin and itchy now. All too soon they’re going to be dismissed, shepherded to private quarters to confirm the union.

Of course, one look at Prince Lu and Jongdae is fairly certain that, even if Prince Lu tried to force himself upon him, Jongdae could easily beat him back and defend himself. While Jongdae may not have much say in when or whom he marries at this point (especially since he’s just been married), he will absolutely maintain the authority over whether he has sex with his new spouse. Of course, ultimately, it will be necessary (especially considering the extending parameters that are being executed on behalf of this marriage), but right now, the last thing Jongdae wants is to leave the banquet hall in a procession to be pushed into unenthusiastic and dutiful ‘consummation of their union.’

A shadow casts itself over Jongdae’s plate, and he looks up to see the court healing physical from Pianjian, his robes now a dark green that still seem to flow about him even without wind. His long hair is plaited down his back now, and he smiles at the two princes before him, hands folded respectfully before him. “Your Graces,” he says with a sweeping bow.

“Wang shifu,” Prince Lu greets, smiling widely for the first time Jongdae has ever seen, inclining his head towards the man.

“Congratulations on your successful union,” Wang shifu says, smiling in return and looking between the two husbands. “I wanted to speak with you both before the evening proceeded any further.” His gaze lingers on Jongdae, making him uncomfortable and apprehensive. Of course he knows the reason this man is here is because he allows for the loop-hole that makes their marriage possible: allowing one or both of them to conceive. That doesn’t make him like it, regardless. “Now, typically, you are expected to retire after the feast and consummate your union and begin efforts on producing an heir, validating the alliance through blood-“ the way he speaks further sets Jongdae on edge, clinically and emotionlessly, as if discussing the passing of weather clouds. “However,” he nods now to Jongdae, “as this is an irregular circumstance, I will instead recommend that you both retire together but refrain from attempting to follow traditional protocol intimacy until my work has begun to take effect.”

“Effect?” Jongdae asks, now frowning and feeling much more alert. Prince Lu stills beside him. “If you please, shifu, would you elaborate on that?”

“Ah, yes, I suppose no one explained it to you,” Prince Lu says, his tone suddenly patronizing as he turns to look at him. “The process that allows for this union to be considered valid takes time to mature until, well, until it would be practical for us to-“ He pauses here, as if continuing the topic embarrasses him, and he looks at Jongdae as if he, too, should recognize this is not an appropriate topic of discussion. “Therefore, it was agreed upon before our arrival that you return home with me, with our physicians and healers, and we, um, address that necessity when it is relevant.”

It is a fine way of explaining away Jongdae leaving his home and life, further it is a polite way of explaining the extra effort being made by Pianjian to ensure this union is successful, and a significant part of Jongdae is relieved to hear that he will not be expected or supervised in detail after he leaves the banquet with Prince Lu. However, the delivery of this information from both Wang shifu and Prince Lu sets him on edge, feeling irritated that he hadn’t been informed of this before, despite how it pertains to him directly, and exhausted by the future prospect of being monitored closely on whether or not he needs to have sex.

“I see,” Jongdae says, nodding to Wang shifu and attempting to grace him with a smile. “I suppose no one would be exceptionally upset then if we leave without procession then.” He turns, fully prepared to leave then, considering they have been present for the requisite length of time and presence, and he is more than ready to be out of the prying eye and gossip that floats about them without shame. As he rises, however, his father turns to him sharply and glares, his dark eyes alive and threatening.

“Running away already?” he asks, voice low and crude. “Already prepared to leave the last full meal with your own people and country to go lay with your pretty new husband?” 

If Prince Lu hears him and takes offense, he doesn’t show it or react. Beside him, Jongdae can feel his posture remain still and perfect, turned away from the exchange and talking instead with Wang shifu. 

“I merely-“

“You’ll sit and grace your country until you are dismissed,” King Jaejun growls, leaning close to his son. The smell of meat and wine is already heavy on his breath, and Jongdae closes his eyes as he wafts over him, spurring a light wave of nausea. “You can at least do that last final deed before running away.”

“If I am not mistaken, the marriage and my leaving to reside in Pianjian with a husband was your proposal and command,” Jongdae mutters, not loud enough for the table to hear him but enough that his father could catch it if he bothered.

The king hears him, and turns to him with a calculated narrowing of his eyes. “When I brought you into this world, it was to be as my son and be useful how I needed you,” he says, voice low and threatening. “And in this manner, you are useful and I needed you. So you’ll do what’s expected of your or I will have no use for you, and you know how I don’t like things that are useless to me.”

The words make Jongdae repress a shudder, stubbornly meeting his father’s gaze and keeping his composure as the old man stares him down. He does know, has witnessed how true that statement is, and is well aware of how real the underlying threat is in those words. “I did what was asked of me, and continue to do so,” Jongdae replies cooly, sitting back slightly so he is angled towards Prince Lu, giving the king a full view of what it is Jongdae has committed to at his Kings request.

For a long moment, the King stares at him, studying his son and the visage that he makes, sitting with his newly wedded husband and defiant to the end, even while fulfilling his duty. The energy must have some effect as Prince Lu turns, attention caught, and stiffens. “Is something wrong?” he asks, and Jongdae finally breaks the stare between himself and his father.

“No,” Jongdae says, settling once more and looking out to the banquet, vaguely aware of how he will probably never do this again. The banquets from now on will be full of strange faces, strange food, and stranger conversations, most likely. “Nothing is wrong.”

The king grunts, turning away himself and raising his glass to take a long drink from it. “Enough, anyway. You two have delayed long enough. Off with you.” It’s a dismissal, and one that Jongdae is grateful for even if he knows the King gives it out of not wanting to deal with him anymore rather than mercy and consideration. Standing carefully so as not to ruin his robes, Jongdae turns to Prince Lu and beckons for him to follow him. “And take that sorcerer with you. You’ll need all the help you can get to make this work.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Prince Lu answers before Jongdae can reply. He says nothing more, simply casting Jongdae a quick look before leading them away. He doesn’t touch Jongdae at all, but with the presence of him so close he may as well be gripping him by the arms. Wang shifu lingers behind them, walking among the royal guards and escorts as they are lead to their room. Silence once more falls around them, filled with footfalls and the rustle of fabric.

At the door of their smaller quarters, the escorts wait until they have entered, bidding them a goodnight as Wang shifu promises to remain outside and keep watch with the guard until his enchantments are fully in place. The door closes behind them and the silence hangs heavy in the empty room.

“So, this is the beginning,” Jongdae says, looking at Prince Lu across from him and trying to gauge from his expression what he will do and what Jongdae should do in return. Prince Lu, rather than answer him, lets out a small sigh, then walks to one side of the room and begins to disrobe, his fine ceremonial garments untying. A brief moment passes in which Jongdae watches, not expecting his husband to ignore him, before he realizes he doesn’t object in the slightest. Retreating to the other side of the room, Jongdae finally sets about removing his own ceremonial garb. The robes fall away, letting his skin breath and the loss of weight makes him feel almost dizzy as the feeling of suffocation lessens. Finally down to one simple robe, the exhaustion sets in, and Jongdae doesn’t care if his husband is offended if Jongdae ignores him and lies down to sleep on the intended sleeping mat for them both.

If any offense was taken, no comment is made. Skin still sticky with sweat and the heavy air of impending future of more responsibilities and expectations and demands hovering over him, Jongdae hears and feels Prince Lu lie down as well, though keeping a distance between them both. They both say nothing to each other, and Jongdae can’t find the energy in him to care much as he drifts to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

There isn’t much air of delusion once the wedding takes place, and instead it’s only a matter of court etiquette that sees the court of Pianjian entertained at the palace compound, in the city itself, and that is something that can easily be accomplished in a few days. There isn’t much in the manner of preparing for the journey back to Pianjian regarding Jongdae’s own company of servants or caretakers, and little of his actual possessions are taken into account.

“You won’t need them, of course,” one of the court escorts of Pianjian almost laughs at him when Jongdae inquired. “As the husband of Prince Lu, you are now a member of Pianjian, and your staff will be of the palace of your new home, not your old. Further, if you were to dress in Pyeongyeon attire. . .” The escort pauses, her mouth pressed thin as she clearly represses a smile of amusement. “Well, I imagine you’ll be more comfortable in the garments we have prepared for you.”

Of course, Jongdae doesn’t necessarily have many possessions that he particularly cares about beyond that of duty and requiring to possess them. His military equipment, horse, the furniture and items in his quarters, even his clothes had all be presented to him with the air that he didn’t truly deserve them. The eyes of the nobility and those who were still prone to gossip, his origin still considered suspect as a member of the royal family, had always stuck to him, giving him the feeling of a brand against his back, following him regardless of where he went.

Preparing to depart consists mostly of Jongdae accompanying his new husband to the various events that have been set up to entertain the Pianjian court. There is a festival, which they are expected to preside over, a tournament, a concert, and a final banquet. Overall, it occupies most of Jongdae’s time to ensure that he is present as is expected. The new expectation of going everywhere with his husband is foreign, and one that Jongdae is struggling to get used to. Before, Jongdae was able to dismiss his servants when his duties were complete for the day, allowing himself solitude and the ability to still feel relatively capable concerning his own needs.

It is uncommon for a member of the nobility or elite social classes to truly do their own care taking, but Jongdae finds a subtle comfort in it, a gentle nostalgia to a time when it had been expected that he would grow up and be fully capable of taking care of his own basic needs as well as those of others. As a prince, the expectation for that behavior is still present, though manifested differently, the weight much more abstractly burdensome. With respect to this, the ability to reduce the need down to his own simple care was comforting, something Jongdae appreciated in his own way, as well as a moment of silence and solitude where he could breathe without being watched.

The situation is different now, where with Jongdae is not with retainers or the court or servants, he is with Prince Lu, his husband an increasingly quiet and cool figure in his daily life. He’s not unpleasant or rude, by any means, but it is more and more evident with every passing day that Prince Lu maintains a distance, physically and relationally. Jongdae has watched him talk to his own court, words coming much easier in a tongue that is still foreign to Jongdae. At first, Jongdae had assumed that Prince Lu’s silence and aversion had been due to a lack of communication skills and confidence, but then had witnessed the prince having a very lively conversation with Junmyeon, who looked less enthused with his conversationalist than the Prince did. The scene had put a weight in Jongdae’s chest, though he wasn’t about to let it shake him.

The marriage is political, as most marriages are, and it is far less important that he and Prince Lu enjoy each others immediate company than they produce an heir that validates the unions purpose. This is not news to Jongdae, but it does pose as problematic of his husband does not want to endure time around him, as Prince Lu exhibits. When they are left alone, silence typically falls between them and neither of them make significant effort to break it. In honesty, Jongdae knows that his own efforts could be more, that it is as much his own behavior that could be interpreted by Prince Lu as distant and therefore his husband is acting in response to that, but it doesn’t dissuade the discomfort between them.

There is no respite from it either, and the time to enjoy the last time he has in his own home fades quickly, and Jongdae is packed up with the rest of the court from Pianjian and set back to their kingdom. King Jaejun doesn’t bid him a warm farewell, simply dismissing him and delivering a farewell to the entire company rather than addressing him at all. Some members of the Pianjian court seem to notice, looking at him curiously from the corner of their eyes, but none comment. Beside him, Prince Lu remains silent and regal, his posture resonating with his status and comfort in his position as he bows in respect to the King before letting himself and Jongdae be ushered into the palanquin.

It strikes Jongdae only as they are departing, the door to the palanquin clicking shut behind them before they are hoisted to begin the long journey back, that he has brought almost nothing with him from his life. His clothes, his friends, his servants and any small memories he might have from his life before this are all being left. In many ways, the person he was before is being left behind, now a creature of the past as he must instead become something new.

Across from him, Prince Lu settles into his space, looking out the slatted windows as the city passes by. The journey back to Pianjian is supposed to take a good length of time, and from all the times Jongdae remembers accompanying their troops to various battles, they’re not exactly in for the most pleasant of swift trips. Thankfully, for his travels, Jongdae had chosen to dress in one of his less formal robes, an option which is much more breathable and tolerable, offering him the option to get out and ride should he desire. They had allowed him to bring his horse with him, along with two of his retainers. He had chosen to take Junhee, a loyal and sweet serving boy, and Hyejin, one of the guards who frequently teased him about how he would never be as good as she in combat (something Jongdae never objected). Both of them ride behind them, their own lives left behind to remain with him.

All that is left of his life in two people, a horse, and some clothing. Of course, considering, that’s a significant wealth, and Jongdae mulls on that as he turns to watch the streets pass from the window. They take the main street, far from where Jongdae was born and first raised. It strikes him only then that he will never again see that place, and the realization fills him with an unexpected relief. He must make some kind of reaction to it, as Prince Lu turns his attention to him, his expression vaguely inquisitive.

“Is it difficult for you to leave?” his husband asks him, eyes still just as cool, void of the sympathy typically attached to a moment such as this. “It is your home, after all, and I am sure it cannot be easy for you.”

“I knew I would have to leave when I agreed to the arrangement,” Jongdae tells him without preamble, giving Prince Lu his full attention.

“Just because you went through with the arrangement doesn’t mean you have to enjoy it,” Prince Lu replies, and the edge in his voice sets that weight in Jongdae’s chest a bit heavier. There is an heir about him, almost like he’s holding back what he truly wants to say, that he might want Jongdae to be unhappy with the arrangement and his future, that he _expects_ Jongdae to be unhappy and that, somehow, the fact that he isn’t is irritating him rather than pleasing him.

It occurs then to Jongdae that his husbands cold behavior indicates, rather than a dislike of Jongdae personally or a reluctance of social discomfort, that he is overall unhappy about the entire situation, and has, until now, had little venue to express his discontent save for cool behavior towards his new husband. In that moment, watching as Prince Lu turns his attention back out the windows, Jongdae realizes that he’s not upset by this, but rather amused. It is somewhat comforting to know that his husband isn’t thrilled about this, that knowledge making it easier for him to feel less impassioned or dedicated to matters concerning this marriage outside of the directly relevant.

“I see,” Jongdae replies calmly then, not caring when Prince Lu doesn’t turn to him. “Well, I’m glad we can agree upon that.” The silence doesn’t feel quite so heavy then, the air not clear between the two of them, but at least Jongdae has an element of clarity towards why it has been uncomfortable up until this moment. It allows Jongdae to let out a grateful sigh and look out the window once more, occupying himself with the passing world rather than straining to entertain his companion. He can see Prince Lu turn to look at him from the corner of his eye, but doesn’t bother to do anything about it.

There will be plenty more chance to try to get to know his husband in the future, and if they’re stuck together for the entire journey home, Jongdae is sure perhaps they will clear out their sentiments before arriving in Pianjian. There is then the matter of the rest of their lives to deal with, something that Jongdae is determined not to bother with until they are firmly settled into Pianjian and he’s had a moment to get his bearings about him.  


…

  
It is not long before it is apparent that the expectation to ride in the palanquins is only temporary. As soon as the traveling parties leave the larger area of the city, the party stops and all of the parties are encouraged to walk about and stretch their limbs. Quite quickly it is evident that Prince Lu intends to ride for the next portion of their journey once the servants and horses have had a rest and some food has been distributed.

“Your grace,” one of the new escorts assigned to Jongdae approaches him, an offering of food in her hands. She smiles when Jongdae accepts her and gladly takes the meal. The water is more appreciated when she offers it to him, as they heat of the day had risen enough that the palanquin had become quite uncomfortable the longer Jongdae sat in it. The escort departs when Jongdae’s own company of Junhee and Hyejin approach him, familiar smiles on their faces. Though they both appear displeased at Jongdae’s desire to ride for the rest of the day rather than remain in the palanquin, they don’t argue with him.

It isn’t until Jongdae, watching as the court and their escorts prepare once more to return to the journey that he is met with outright objection, this time from some of the Pianjian retainers.

“I desire to ride for the rest of the day,” Jongdae tells him firmly, frowning as they block him from making his way to his horse.

“With respect, your grace, but the day is too strenuous, and we would be more comfortable if you were to take care of your own composure on the journey home,” the first retainer says, a fixed pleasant smile on his face as he indicates the palanquin for Jongdae. “After all, it would not do to return to the Capital with our new prince in poor health from the journey.”

“If I tired, I am perfectly capable of excusing myself for a rest,” Jongdae argues, feeling frustrated at their refusal to listen to him. By rights now, he is their Prince, and they are required to listen to his bidding and adhere to his decisions. To be questioned is one thing, but this rather feels more like being handled and contained than it does as action out of concern.

“We respect your own ability and understand you may have previously done as you wished in your own court,” the second retainer says, a taller thin man with large ears poking out from under his cap. “However, you are under our care now and our ways are not the same as yours. With respect, it would please all if you acted in accordance with the ways of our culture and custom.”

Over the retainers, Jongdae can see Prince Lu, mounted upon his own horse and with a small guard flanking him, trot into the procession. The Prince casts them a look, momentarily of confusion and slight irritation, before he catches sight of Jongdae and must realize some element of what is happening. However, rather than intervene on his behalf, the Prince rides on, spurring his horse into a faster gait to bring them to ride ahead, leaving Jongdae to be ushered back into the palanquin.

“If it makes you more comfortable, Your grace,” the first retainer says, pushing Jongdae back to the palanquin without actually touching him, his proximity and crowding enough. “Your countrymen may ride with you, though the added weight may fatigue the servants more than just your weight in the palanquin, I am afraid.”

“I can ride alone,” Jongdae states firmly, fixing the retainer with a cold look as he retreats to the palanquin. The retainer, if the remark bothers him at all, shows nothing of it, his face still plastered with that same smile as he bows and backs away once Jongdae is loaded once more into the palanquin. Junhee and Hyejin both nod to him, assuring him that they will be there should he need them, and Jongdae resigns himself to being handled for the rest of the day. At this moment, it is hard to determined exactly whether this treatment is because of overprotection or if he’s truly being denied out of power and control, and as well aware of his situation as Jongdae is, he is also aware that being married as a token of politics may reduce one to a political tool, that does not remove him from the position of power that makes his validity and significance so relevant for him to be used as such a tool.

Regardless, Jongdae may desire to form amicable relations between his own country and Pianjian through this marriage just as much as the councils, advisors, and nobility in their interest to preserve their own Kingdoms, but his desire does not require him to let his autonomy as a Prince vanish upon a marriage contract. He’ll agree to the rituals, the spells, and the remedies the court physician and healer administers to Prince Lu and himself on a nightly basis to aid in the ‘process’, but he won’t agree to being contained and handled as if he is too fragile to conduct his own affairs.

 _”Your stubbornness will get you killed one day,”_ Junmyeon had once told him. Perhaps, but thus far his determination and stubbornness have kept him alive thus far, and Jongdae would rather view them as positive traits of adaptation rather than flaws that should be removed from him in order to please others. After all, he has learned well enough to navigate the courts and the life of being a prince on his own without getting into any significant trouble, so Jongdae isn’t entire concerned with deciding to address this particular issue with relative haste.  


. . . 

  
It isn’t apparent until they stop for the day that the care of Sifu Wang had been minimal while in the capital city of Pyeongyeon. Naturally, upon consideration, this is understandable, the reality that Jongdae and Prince Lu would be in the same place but surrounded by nobles, retainers, and various other servants and personnel most of the time preventing the physician from directing his full attention on them. However, the recommendation for Jongdae to rest during the journey becomes apparent after the first night when shifu Wang approaches the princes.

The process for their exceptional marriage ends up being a series of practices, meditative and in a series of rituals followed by the consumption of an herbal tincture which burns Jongdae’s throat and makes him feel weak and unsettled. The primary consolation is that Prince Lu must complete the protocol with him, and clearly dislikes it just as severely. It amuses Jongdae that, while the prince had been able to maintain cool composure in most every circumstance in so far as Jongdae has witnessed, in this particular context, his revulsion at the tincture and discomfort in the rituals and practices wear blatantly on his face and in his voice.

“It is best that you rest now,” shifu Wang tells them both, backing away from their shared tent with low bows. His robes are once more dark and flowing, swallowing him as his long hair hangs freely about his face. “It will take the body some time to adjust to the remedies and treatments, and the medicine will take some acclimation.”

“Yes, understood,” Prince Lu grunts out, somewhat doubled over from where he sits atop the bed mats that had been laid out for them in the tent. “You may go.”

Shifu Wang pauses as he makes to leave, turning to them both once more. “I will have to advise against vomiting, if you can. The medicine must be consumed, and while vomiting may be a symptom of the bodies adjustment to the mixture, it will require consuming the medicine again in order to ensure the effects take.”

Prince Lu’s face pinches as if he is ready to snap at the physician, and Jongdae speaks before he can, still feeling weak and uneasy, but at the very least amused by his husbands behavior. “Thank you, we will do our best.”

As soon as the physician leaves, Prince Lu doubles over entirely, arms circling his waist and letting out a guttural groan. From everything that Jongdae has experienced of the prince thus far, this behavior is entirely new and relatively uncharacteristic, surprising, to say the least. It appears to not bother Prince Lu though, as he makes no effort to correct his blatant display of discomfort and misery. It is, to put it simply, a rather pathetic sight, to see a man who holds himself with haughty status so easily reduced by a relatively insignificant discomfort.

Though Jongdae doesn’t belittle the discomfort that has come with the treatments, he isn’t about to treat it as severely as his husband is. Of course it is uncomfortable, but when compared to the injuries he’s sustained in combat or the conditions he’d seen and experienced of those outside of the nobility, as well as the disease and suffering he’d witnessed (and, on one occasion, experienced), it’s a very small discomfort. Of course, he keeps his opinions to himself, instead standing and preparing for the nights rest, ignoring the roiling in his belly and the feeling of irritation that races under his skin and makes him feel like he’s shaking from the inside out. At worst though, this will be something his body will acclimate to and will only temporarily affect his ability to sleep. A look at his husband tells Jongdae that he’s enduring far worse.

Washed and in clean robes, Jongdae takes pity on him and fetches the water basin, bringing it to Prince Lu and sitting down beside him. “Here,” he urges quietly, offering him a cool damp cloth. “It’ll help, Prince Lu.”

For a long moment, the prince does nothing, remaining curled into himself and face hidden in his arms. Jongdae waits, proffering the cloth patiently, before finally letting out a sigh when the prince hasn’t stirred and making to pull away. “We’re married now,” the prince says, his voice graveled and strained, clearly forced through grit teeth. “You should address me informally. Otherwise it would be strange, especially as we are of equal standing.”

“I suppose you would prefer to address me by my name then, rather than Prince Kim,” Jongdae smiles, watching as the Prince uncurls himself enough to raise his face slightly and take the cloth from Jongdae’s hands. He doesn’t pull away when Jongdae risks to lay a hand on his shoulder. _”We’re married,”_ the prince had said, after all. “Jongdae, if that is comfortable for you.”

“And you should address me as Han, especially in close quarters,” the prince sighs, his voice shaking as he presses the cloth to his neck. He’s pale, skin clammy and, this close, he looks so delicate. He’s not, Jongdae knows better than to go by looks alone, and has heard of Prince Lu’s ability as an athlete and warrior. Of course, most of it is controlled, as Jongdae had never heard of the prince joining the battles as he had done, but regardless, the pale and pathetic look about him now has Jongdae biting back a laugh.

“I understand,” Jongdae nods, drawing back a bit as Prince Lu’s - Han’s - face pinches. “Are you going to vomit?”

“Please don’t talk about vomiting,” Han mutters, burying his head in his arms again. The lines about his figure are taut, as if he’s restraining himself from truly expressing his sentiments, and Jongdae, still feeling relatively terrible himself, would rather not deal with a sick and uncomfortable pampered prince while in his current state.

“We should rest,” Jongdae tells him. “Try to sleep through the worst of it. There is another full day of travel ahead of us.” Han simply groans loudly at him in response, though he doesn’t move. Looking at his figure curled up on the mats, Jongdae considers reaching out to him and pulling him down to rest with him. It has been nagging at him, curious if the prince will respond more readily to physical communication and contact than verbal, considering conversationally he is incredibly withdrawn. Perhaps, especially in moments of vulnerability and weakness, it offers Jongdae a chance to at least create an amicable atmosphere between them, something Jongdae would prefer to have at least while they are expected to sleep together in the immediate future.

At a rather large surge of revulsion in his belly though as the medicine burns under his skin, Jongdae refrains from reaching out. It’s far more effort and trouble than he’s willing to commit to that night, and the option of curling up to force himself to sleep off the symptoms of the treatments is far more appealing. The bed hardly moves as Jongdae settles himself down, though the weight of the prince beside him finally shifts as Han lets out soft little discontented noises, all muffled in his arms.

“I hate this,” mumbles quietly hours later. Jongdae has fitfully rested, still mostly awake and struggling with surges of heat and chill through his body, restraining himself from shivering. He stills, listening as Han shifts finally, laying down as far from Jongdae as the bed permits, being careful and quiet none the less. “This wasn’t my choice. I didn’t want it, any of it.”

“Nor did I,” Jongdae whispers softly, wondering faintly if they may have reached a point of solidarity with each other. Beside him, the silence deepens dramatically enough that Jongdae wonders if Han may have stopped breathing. It amuses him, to have shocked the prince enough to stopper his breath and render him immobile. “But we do the best with what we have, I suppose.”

After a long stretch of silence, the bed shifts slightly, Han angling himself onto the bed into perhaps a more comfortable position. “That doesn’t mean we have to like it,” he mutters, voice muffled and laced with sulking.

It takes a significant amount of resolve for Jongdae not to laugh at him, his behavior petty and selfish, relatively unfitting for a noble prince who should consider his position rather than his own personal comforts and desires. Rather than laugh though, Jongdae rolls to his back, hands splayed over his abdomen and willing it to finally calm. “Better to learn to accept it than to remain miserable though,” he points out.

The silence that follows leads to Jongdae smirking in the darkness, hearing the admitted agreement in the lack of argument from the other side of the bed.

It’s a start.


	4. Chapter 4

The dawn rises without preamble outside of the cities, shameless as it approaches and stirs the earth with the rising of the sun. It bleeds through windows and curtains, creeping under doors and shatters the calm depths of sleep. Whatever respite Jongdae had found in the sleep he had finally managed to get the night before is short lived, the dawn waking him as the sun shines through their tent, the fabrics a poor wall against the light. The effects of the treatment, whatever had been in the tincture the night before, and the symptoms following still render him weak, shaky, and feeling generally uneasy. The thought of food, let alone traveling the whole day stuck inside a palanquin, are enough to make Jongdae wish to simply dissolve himself back into the sleep he’d been awoken from.

However, knowing the matter of breaking camp and setting on the road will take more time if he and Prince Lu waste about, Jongdae pulls himself up. The effort has his head spinning slightly, and he lets out a soft moan, his eyes closing for a moment to try to tame the sudden seething in his belly. From the other side of the bed, he hears Han stirring, letting out a soft moan of his own and Jongdae opens his eyes to watch his husband roll over with a distinct grimace on his features. It makes his typically handsome face almost humorous in how poorly it adapts to expressions of discomfort. 

Instead, Jongdae looks away, focusing on getting up and gathering a robe about him. His skin still feels clammy and he’s chilled in the morning air, despite the summer air being heavy. Prince Lu remains in the bed, burrowing into the pillows, uncharacteristic of his behavior Jongdae had experienced thus far. 

During their stay in the Goyangi, Prince Lu had risen early, quietly, and without much ceremony. He had fastidiously made sure the servants made the bed before they dressed him, and then departed for the morning meal. Jongdae, used to the practices he had made consistent at the palace compound, typically dressed himself, though allowed the servants to assist him during the days he and Prince Lu shared a room after their wedding.

This morning, the prince makes absolutely no effort to rise from the bed. A part of Jongdae wonders if perhaps he had been more susceptible to the effects of the tincture and treatments, his own experience far more unpleasant than Jongdae’s. However, regardless of discomfort, the prince is clearly not properly ill, and instead it appears as if he’s being…

The entry to the tent is pulled aside and Jongdae watches as a small group of servants walk in, some the same who had attended to them in the palace compound. One of them, who appears familiar with the prince, lets out a laugh upon seeing him. “Lazing about again, your grace, and in front of your fresh handsome husband! What will he think of you?” She hardly hesitates to approach the bed and begin fussing over the limp form of her prince, none too gently pulling him to sit up and leave the bed. It takes a moment before Jongdae realizes she’s speaking in Jongdae’s language, the common tongue of Pyeongyeon.

“I have not had a pleasant night,” Prince Lu grumbles, clearly annoyed by the levity that his clear discontent is being treated with, but does not resist the servant for being practically manhandled. “Neither myself nor Prince K- Jongdae have. When you’re finished, best to report to the captain that I will not be riding with the company today. Please also ensure that the palanquins are prepared for both of us. We’re in no condition to walk or be in the elements.”

“Of course, your grace,” the servant coos as Jongdae watches. A light touch at his shoulder has him turning, realizing he’d been ignoring his own servants as they patiently wait, ready to dress and care for him. It is perplexing to him, that the prince would have retainers who are not his native countrymen. Perhaps it was arranged this way for Jongdae’s own comfort and ease as he moves into life in the court, but then why would the prince be so familiar with her?

The musings brought upon him by the interactions of the servant with the prince linger as Jongdae is dressed and prepared for the day. The servants appear startled when Jongdae waves off most of their attempts to dress him, frowning when he demonstrates that he is accustomed to doing it himself. They, unlike the princes aid, do not speak the common tongue of Pyeongyeon, and Jongdae does not know their language beyond simple formalities. Seeing his struggle, the prince calls over to them, frowning as he conveys the message Jongdae had been trying to communicate. They look confused, but regardless retreat and allow Jongdae to dress himself in his own robes.

“You shouldn’t do that,” Prince Lu says, his own servants carefully and efficiently dressing him. The two that had been aiding Jongdae have set about cleaning up the tent, breaking it down for travel. He turns to Jongdae when Jongdae doesn’t reply, unsure if Han was truly addressing him. Prince Lu still looks pale, though not as poorly as the night before. There is a frown on his face now though as he looks at Jongdae. “It’s their job to serve you, and it is your responsibility to be served and comply with what is expected of you.”

The comment makes Jongdae almost laugh, and he catches it in his throat, bitter with derisiveness. “Am I expected to be helpless?” he asks, finishing with dressing himself before Han is, despite being unaided. “I have rarely required the assistance of servants in my own home before to dress myself, I see no reason to have to change my behavior simply because I’ve acquired a husband.”

The comment seems to surprise Han, and he turns, eyes widened marginally, the same cool expression on his features once more. “That may have been acceptable before,” he begins slowly, clearly for effect as he looks straight into Jongdae’s eyes. “But you are now a member of the Pianjian court, my husband, and expected to act as is appropriate.” His eyes sweep up and down Jongdae’s figure, ignoring the irritation that Jongdae knows plays across his face. “You’re wearing your own robes.”

“I can’t very well leave this tent in my bed clothes.” Jongdae’s words come out harsher than expected, and the sting of them lingers in his mouth as his stomach turns once more. He’s on edge, and clearly more irritable than usual, probably due to the lack of sleep and night of discomfort and illness that had followed the treatments, rendering him unlike his usual composed self. Perhaps the same may be said of Han, who also appears less agreeable and more vocal than Jongdae is familiar with.

“You were intended to don the robes of our country, to reflect our-“ Han cuts himself off, his voice already harsh and cutting. He draws in a long breath, eyes closed and face pinched. The servants have paused, stepping back from him almost instinctively, their hands clasped before them and heads bowed respectively. “You didn’t understand,” he says instead, turning back to his servants and gesturing to them to finish their task. “Today we will be recovering from our treatment, and few will notice, so it can be excused. Tomorrow it would be best if you allow your aids to dress you, as I am sure you are unfamiliar with how the royal robes of Pianjian are to be worn.”

While the princes tone has softened somewhat, and he appears to have caught himself before being properly rude, the air of irritation and admonishment lingers, though whether that is at Jongdae, his own lingering symptoms of the treatment, or something else, Jongdae does not know. Regardless, the expectation that Jongdae is to quite quickly abandon his own culture and habits now that he is married is made very clear, something that Jongdae isn’t entirely prepared to do and is tempted to resist.

“If it pleases your graces, we’ve had a meal prepared for you and would be happy to prepare your tent for the road ahead,” Prince Lu’s servant announces, gesturing outside of the tent where the two of them are clearly intended to leave.

“Yes, of course,” Han sighs, nodding to her and walking from the tent. It isn’t until he passes into the open air and bright sunlight that Jongdae realizes he’d been slouching the entire time in the tent with him, finally straightening to full posture once properly visible. Though his face is still pale, he doesn’t look as disturbed as he had through the morning, an expression of impassive indifference settling over his features as he slowly examines his surroundings.

Following him slowly, Jongdae moves to stand beside him, feeling a bit impressed with himself that he had been holding composure all morning, despite still feeling unwell. Outside of the tent, most of the camp has already awoken, servants and attendants bustling about, members of the guard and other members of the court milling about. Waiting for them a few paces from their tent with his robes now in a deep red hue stands the physician, his hands folded before him and lost in the fabrics of his clothes.

“Your graces,” he addresses, sweeping into a low bow when Jongdae’s attention lands on him. He smiles upon rising, his eyes switching between the two of them. “I trust that you were not too affected through the night. I am aware that the treatment may have adverse effects on those of… weaker constitution.”

Opening his mouth to reply, Jongdae is cut off as Prince Lu replies instead. “It was as to be expected, though I fear my husband did not sleep much and suffered more than he acknowledged.”

The comment nearly has Jongdae balking, turning to Prince Lu to snap at the lie before he catches himself. Jongdae may be a prince (and irritable, exhausted and still unwell Prince) and knows better than to let comments such as what was just made be said lightly, but he is in a foreign party, surrounded by former enemies, and Prince Lu clearly holds more power in this exact situation than Jongdae does. In truth, the fact that Prince Lu clearly holds more power in all manifestations currently has been bothering Jongdae gradually since they had completed the ceremony. It had been easier to ignore when back in the palace compound, where Jongdae was the host and, despite being the newly wed husband to the other Prince, Jongdae had made an effort to express that both of them were of equal power and influence and autonomy, separated and together among the court.

The same courtesy and attitude is clearly not present from Prince Lu, or he perhaps is just the type of person who prefers to treat what should be his equals as his inferiors. 

That last thought Jongdae will attribute to his poor resting the night before, and, rather than react to the Prince’s belittling remark with rebuttal, changes his mind. Laughing, Jongdae leans closer to Han, reaching up to gently lay a hand to the Prince’s arm in a familiar gesture as he smiles at shifu Wang. “I do believe my husband is being a bit too proud for his own good. Neither of us had a pleasant night, I am afraid, and I expect that his silent suffering matched my own.” Under his touch, which Han has not pulled away from, the prince has stiffened, his figure going rigid and a small feeling of victory spins in Jongdae’s chest before being swallowed in another lingering wave of disease from his belly. Shifu Wang is watching him with slightly wide eyes, clearly surprised at his willingness to answer honestly. Jongdae lets his smile harden slightly, his hand sliding up Han’s arm until it rests against his shoulder, allowing him to lean closer to his spouse. “Is there nothing you can do to make the process easier for us? I cannot imagine that traveling, as strenuous and taxing on the body alone, will be possible for us should this continue for the remainder of our journey.”

“That is not-“ Han begins, his voice tight and strained as he remains tense under Jongdae’s slowly captivating touch.

“Of course, your grace!” shifu Wang says hastily, bowing in a low sweeping gesture as he steps back. “Though,” he pauses, his eyes flickering to Prince Lu as he straightens up again. “The intention is for the body to adapt to the treatments, the lessening of symptoms from it indicating that it is taking effect.”

“Are you suggesting we suffer needlessly?” Jongdae asks, still smiling. Beside him, Han reaches up to take his hand, removing it from his shoulder. Not wanting to lose command of the situation, Jongdae slips his hand around Prince Lu’s, gripping his hand firmly and lacing their fingers together. The action seems to startle Han, and he squeezes, hard, as if to warn Jongdae from continuing. Jongdae ignores the warning. “After all, would it make sense for the company to stop should one of us take ill due to our symptoms, or, in fact, both of us? What a waste that could have been prevented if we instead had a remedy to soothe the symptoms and then expect to pursue more definite results when the Prince and I can properly recover in the comforts of the palace.”

It’s a situation Jongdae is familiar with, especially after having to argue with his father in the royal courts and at the council on matters of state. While most of the advisors and counselors did not want to disagree with the king, delivering contradictory yet factual and reasonable alternatives or opposing information with the pressure of amicability and persuasion typically proved effective. After all, Jongdae learned that most people, regardless of how truly intelligent they were, had the ability to recognize truth when it was given to them. Whether they then chose to accept the truth was up for contextual circumstance, but in general, it was something that could not be ignored.

At Jongdae’s comments, both shifu Wang and Prince Lu appear a bit at a loss in how to respond, and Jongdae allows himself a proper pleased smile at his own disregard for doing what he was told. Then the physician bows, utters a quick affirmation and dismisses himself. Though their immediate audience is departed, Jongdae does not consent to Prince Lu attempting releasing his hand, though he does loosen the grip he holds on him.

“That was unnecessary,” Han tells him, turning to him with a distinct frown on his face. He’s just tall enough that when he looks at Jongdae, he is physically looking down on him. The expression on his face, along with the way his eyes turn down to look at him, has Jongdae nearly yanking on his hand, forcing him to unbalance and fall before Jongdae, to be thrown from that physically assumed place of superiority. Instead, Jongdae gives Han’s hand a gentle squeeze and lets out a slow breath, attempting to release his frustration with how the morning has proceeded thus far.

“On the contrary, I think it was entirely necessary,” Jongdae replies as lightly as he can. “I hardly want to eat after last night and, considering I believe you had less rest than I did and far more issue with the tincture, I doubt you do either. If we’re to be subjected to that on a frequent basis, we must keep up our strength, and being unable to eat due to it significantly effects that.”

“That is presumptuous of you,” Han scoffs, and the attitude makes Jongdae’s attempted light air darken, his smile faltering.

“Perhaps,” Jongdae allows, though doesn’t look away from Han’s eyes. “Perhaps I am being selfish and simply prefer not to suffer today.”

“You are a prince, after all,” Han says, and the way he says it is so edged with unspoken prejudice and judgement Jongdae has to grit his teeth to keep from crushing Han’s bones in his grip. It’s tempting, and Jongdae is in a poor enough mood to do it. 

Instead, he lets go of Han’s hand, lets out another sigh, perhaps a bit harsher than he intended, and proceeds to where one of the servants has just emerged with food, clearly intended for them, from what is presumably the cook’s tent. “So are you,” Jongdae reminds him, not looking back at his husband as he makes his way towards the servant. She smiles at him as she hands over the food, saying something in Pianjian’s foreign tongue that Jongdae resigns himself to having to learn sooner rather than later. 

Despite still not feeling well, Jongdae forces himself to eat, and thankfully his body accepts the food, in fact calming slightly after a while. Prince Lu eats with him in silence, though he seems to be struggling a bit more, long pauses stretching between his bites of food as he stares into his bowl with a shrouded expression. At least Jongdae allows him silence in that, refraining from speaking. After their meal, Jongdae’s mood does improve, though he remains fatigued. With the recovery comes the feeling of slight guilt at his behavior from that morning, and the return of his sense of duty and the expectation of him to impress the Prince and court that this marriage was positive rather than a source of discontent. 

Thus, as the servants usher both himself and the prince to the palanquin, clearly intended for them to ride in as they travel for the morning, a resting space while they recover from the night before, Jongdae waits until he can catch Han’s attention. Finally settled in the palanquin, Jongdae shifts and the prince turns to him from where he had been looking out the window. “I wanted to address my behavior earlier today,” Jongdae begins. “I was not feeling well and know my behavior may not have been received well, and extend my apologies if I caused offense.”

In the dim light of the palanquin, the only true light streaming in through the slatted windows as the servants and retainers all chatter about outside, preparing to set back onto the road. Across from him, his robes spread about him elegantly and some of the color returned from his face, Prince Lu, his husband, watches him silently for a long moment, his eyes flitting over Jongdae’s face as if evaluating him. At long last, he lets out a small sigh and lets his posture relax, turning to look back out the window. “You are forgiven,” he finally says before his mouth returns to a thin line.

It is clear after a few moments that Prince Lu has no intention of addressing his own behavior that morning, let alone apologizing to him for it, and the reality of that melts the tolerant smile off of Jongdae’s face. It leaves a distinctly sour taste in the air, one which Jongdae hadn’t expected and certainly isn’t looking forward to in the following days. From the talk of the servants, the journey itself will last at least three weeks before they reach the capital city of Pianjian, a month if the weather is unfavorable and if they run into any delays.

It is not for a few hours, long after the first jostling of the palanquin as the servants raised it to carry them along the road, that Jongdae ventures to break the tedious silence that had stretched between them. All morning, Han had sat in variable stillness, gazing out the window and looking distinctly bored while Jongdae let his mind wander aimlessly. Unlike the day previous, the heat of summer isn’t quite as oppressive, though the heat of the day is already filling the compartment and Jongdae can feel his body, already displeased from fatigue and the ordeal the night prior, aching in discomfort.

“I expect we’ll be in the palanquin together for much of the journey home,” Jongdae voices quietly, not entirely wanting to engage Han in conversation but realizing that the longer he avoids talking to him, the more potentially uncomfortable their forced cohabitation will become. Han turns to him, and there are lines of fatigue around his eyes that Jongdae hadn’t noticed before. “It might be good to get to know each other a little better,” he suggests. “It would pass the time and-“

“I’d prefer to ride in silence,” Han interrupts him, turning to look out the window once more, the corners of his mouth pinching.

Jongdae refrains from sighing again, instead turning to the window and looking out once more. He breathes carefully, trying to dissipate the rising irritation he is accumulating from Han’s behavior and attitude. Slowly, as the heat of the day increases and Jongdae’s muscles begin to cramp, he finds himself drifting off, the quiet of sleep offering him respite from the poor company of his husband, if but for a short while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is reading and supporting this story! I am so happy to see that someone else is enjoying this aside from myself ~ヾ(＾∇＾)


	5. Chapter 5

The morning of the third day of traveling comes late, delayed with the soft yet oppressive fog that had crept in during the night to the valley. Camp had been set up near the base of a mountain just west of the main road, in a valley with a small river running along the edge from the cool mountain peak ascending rapidly before the wide green space. It’s a beautiful place, and one that most would prefer to linger in rather than rush away from. The fog, if anything, seems to allow for such delay and leisure in moving on. Despite that mercy, the fog brings with it a cool damp that seems to seep into everything it touches, cloth, skin, and the very marrow of bones. It’s an unusual chill for this time of year, and most everyone up at the early morning hours in the dim light, is pulling at shawls and small blankets around their shoulders as they prepare for the day.

To the credit of shifu Wang, the treatments do appear to be getting less unpleasant, though, Jongdae muses as he wakes again after another fitful night of sleep to a now familiar feeling of disease, perhaps it is more that he is simply becoming acclimated to the constant feeling the treatments come with. Regardless, it is a tolerance that doesn’t seem to be entirely shared with his husband. Since the first day, when Prince Lu had declined conversation, he and the prince have had little more than necessary commentary between the two of them. Of course, considering how ill he finds himself, Jongdae isn’t entirely willing to waste his energy on attempting to exchange pleasantries with a man who seems entirely disinterested and, at some points, odious. 

Typically, by the time evening arrives and supper is presented to himself and Han, they are both well enough to partake with at least some level of pleasantries, though most of them fall to Jongdae to provide with talking about whatever it is he can that appears neutral in content. The nights seem to be less onerous and Han presents as less taciturn and rather to be listening to whatever it is Jongdae is talking about. Then shifu Wang approaches and the two men dutifully are subject to the treatment and tincture. Unfortunately, it renders any further pleasantries that may progress into the later hours are lost as both men succumb under the effects of the treatments’ symptoms and retire in relative haste and silence. 

The day prior, Jongdae, feeling no better than the days before, had resigned himself to riding in the palanquins despite knowing that the fresh air and light would probably do him good. That morning had found both him and Prince Lu in terrible condition and both were hastily transported into a palanquin for their own comfort and health. Being in the small space with the morning already warmer than the ones before it, Jongdae had thought of tempting his husband into conversation, or perhaps a small game, but upon seeing the look on his Princes’ sallow face, had settled for silence and observation of the goings on outside of their vehicle. They had spent most of the day in silence, and after their afternoon rest and a small meal, Jongdae returned to an empty palanquin. One of the retainers explained he had moved to another palanquin, wanting to rest.

It felt like an offense, and it probably was, and certainly a public one. To Jongdae, who personally felt like it was mostly his efforts to make their marriage function by any means, it appeared a very public scene for Prince Lu to be avoiding him. Yet if this behavior bothered the court traveling with them or stirred in them concern about the marriages success, none showed it. In fact, any and all Jongdae saw who were privy to the behavior of the prince seemed entirely unsurprised and accepting of his disregard for Jongdae. In fact, when Jongdae commented to Yuna, the servant who appeared familiar with Han, she seemed shocked he would bring it up.

“His Grace is in need of rest, as are you, unless I am mistaken?” Her expression assumes a slight suspicion to it, and Jongdae hastily agrees before gathering more attention to himself. Perhaps it truly is that Prince Lu had noticed the discomfort that appears to be building between the two of them, especially when they are stuck in the palanquin after long suffering nights to endure long suffering days. However, Jongdae assumes that it would be only logical for Han to realize that most of the rising discomfort is attributed to Han’s own refusal to exchange pleasantries with him and exert his own efforts in their fresh relationship.

This morning dawns and Jongdae awakens before Han does, shivering slightly despite the blankets he had dragged over both of them the night before. Beside him, wrapped up tightly in his generous share of the blankets, Han slumbers on, a crease to his features indicating he, too, is still suffering the treatment. Rising and grabbing a robe, Jongdae wraps himself tightly in the cloth, trying to collect his own warmth around him. It would be convenient, he muses, if he could simply share warmth with his husband. However, the prospect of attempting to lie closely with Han when Han has behaved as he has since they left Goyangi isn’t as welcome as Jongdae wishes it were, and the myriad of potential reactions Han may have upon waking to find them in such a position are hardly appealing.

Ironically, for a brief moment, Jongdae considers lying down and creating just such a scenario, partly curious to see what may actually develop but primarily due to his own frustration with Han and a petty desire to irritate him further as recompense for the mistreatment he has endured thus far. After all, Prince Lu, curled up and pale, looks rather a piteous creature and Jongdae, despite his own tremendous feeling of disease, could do with a small moment of twisted amusement at the expense of his disappointing husband. Unfortunately, as Jongdae was preparing to return to the bed to follow through with his own petty morning devices, the servants creep into their space and catch sight of him.

“Your Grace,” says Yuna, a look of faint surprise on her features as she takes his appearance in. “We did not expect you to be awake at this hour.”

“Is it late?” Jongdae asks, standing properly now as his own servants (he’s learned their names are Jia and Fei) begin the process of dressing him and tidying the tent.

“No,” Yuna replies as her companion, another servant Jongdae had discerned was Xingxing, begins to lay out Han’s clothing for the day. “We had simply expected you to sleep later, considering the weather and your recent disposition.”

“I suppose it is a good thing then that I am risen and appear well,” Jongdae replies, allowing Jia to remove his robe. “Though I imagine rousing my husband will be a larger task than any want to assume this morning. He sleeps quite soundly.” Indeed, Han had continued to sleep through the activity in the tent around him, though the crease in his forehead had deepened. If Yuna had a reply to Jongdae’s comment, she did not voice it, instead turning her attention to the Prince while Jongdae let himself be occupied by his servants. For the most part, it was impossible for Jongdae to truly know if Jia and Fei understood him or spoke his language, as they mostly concentrated on his work rather than his feeble attempts at trying to elicit a response from them. At first, Jongdae had thought they disliked him and felt resentment towards him, though later realized it was more attributed to their wanting to complete their tasks before continuing about their regular work. 

Since the first day of traveling, Jongdae had surrendered to wearing the robes that his new family intended for him. Granted, they were foreign and it took Jongdae some time to become accustomed to wearing them. Initially the high collar had been uncomfortable, making Jongdae feel constricted and restrained especially while stuck in the palanquin feeling symptomatic of the treatment, which in generally made him more sensitive physically to discomfort. However, by the time this morning arrives, he’s almost grateful for the robes. The days have grown hotter and the material of these robes is lighter and more comfortable than the summer robes he is used to, which were simply less intricate. 

At some point Jongdae will take the time to learn how to dress himself in this style, but for now, while he still is learning the different wrappings and fastenings that ensure his garments will remain proper through the day, Jongdae relents to the superior skills of Jia and Fei. By the time Jongdae is dressed and prepared for the day, most of the lingering disease that typically carries over into the day from the treatment has dissipated. It’s a welcome thing, considering Jongdae hadn’t felt at all well since he’d left Goyangi and his state of repose over the last few days had certainly left him weaker than when he had left. Thus, unlike prior mornings, Jongdae bids Yuna and Xingxing farewell and leaves them to tend to Prince Lu as he makes for his awaiting breakfast.

Just as most mornings, shifu Wang is waiting a few paces from their tent to assess their progress and the success of the treatments. Upon seeing Jongdae emerge, he swiftly approaches, though hesitates when he realizes Jongdae is alone. “Your grace,” he greets, bowing slightly, his long hair cascading down his shoulders in dark waves. “Is the prince still abed?”

“It appears he is struggling more with your treatments than I,” Jongdae replies, feeling only the slightest bit smug. “I am not sure if my condition this morning is a sign of progress or perhaps a lesser dose by error last night, but regardless, I am feeling as if I am recovering from your work enough that I may travel with more ease today.”

“That is indeed good news, your grace,” shifu Wang agrees, nodding with a small almost nervous smile. “I am as shocked as you must be that the treatment seems to be taking effect in you so swiftly. Though I also believe that this requires you maintain with it, as the success of the treatment will be essential in consummating your marriage with Prince Lu.”

“As is to be expected,” Jongdae says though a smile he doesn’t entirely feel. Of course, he has had no disillusions about what this marriage would require of him, and certainly no illusions about his usage to his father and kingdom when it comes to political alliances. However, that doesn’t eliminate his own personal sentiments towards what is expected of him, and especially with someone who appears to hold little favor for him. “I assume when the Pr- when Han is feeling well and has acclimated to the treatments, such events will follow quickly.”

“All the more reason for your grace to rest and ensure you are in the highest of health,” shifu Wang encourages, nodding to him and reaching out with his long ringed fingers. His hands are cold when he wraps them around Jongdae’s and it spurs a shiver through him that lingers and sinks into his bones like the settled fog. “If you will excuse me, I should check on the Prince.” 

After his morning meal, Jongdae, despite his wishes contrary, is ushered into the palanquin for the morning. After a long stretch of relative peace, Han is finally deposited into the palanquin, much to Jongdae’s surprise. The soldiers who deliver him appear to do so without significant reverence, simply delivering him and making no move to assist their prince as he climbs into the palanquin with questionable elegance. It isn’t until their attention switches to Jongdae and shifts to clear distain that Jongdae realizes their behavior has more to do with their disagreement with this alliance and what Jongdae and Han’s marriage represents than their actual prince. After all, if Jongdae is ever familiar with the public opinion, it is through their haste to change favor of him with regards to any decision passed by his father or the council, regardless of his actual involvement.

But that is the duty of a prince, to reflect and respond to the demands and response of his people, regardless of whether it is favorable or not, in his greater responsibility to care for them. At least, that’s how Jongdae always chose to view the position, regardless of how many princes or kings around him exhibited contrary behavior or opinions. Watching Han deposit himself into the palanquin, Jongdae cannot entirely understand what kind of Prince Han sees himself as, and finds himself, for the first time since their departure from Goyangi, not caring. After the initial guard has passed and the procession is given the command to depart, Jongdae hastily exits the palanquin.

“Your grace,” calls one of the guards, marching alongside the servants charged with carrying the palanquin. “Is something wrong?”

“I wish to walk,” Jongdae tells him clearly. “It’s been days and I would like to have some fresh air in my lungs rather than the air used by my husband.” Jongdae realizes that the last part of his declaration may not be fitting for him, but considers that it isn’t incredibly likely that the guard understood him entirely. Furthermore, Jongdae doesn’t care as much. As far as he has witnessed, most of the court doesn’t seem to care much about Han’s behavior, and Jongdae therefore doesn’t find it in himself to bother putting up so many facades on his end if it isn’t necessary. He’d rather save his energy for other things and put his time towards trying to master the language that still is so foreign all around him, or figuring out how to work this marriage in a way that won’t continue in this vein in the long years inevitable to come.

“Of course, your Grace,” the soldier says haltingly. Jongdae turns, making sure to at least walk in the shade beside the palanquin, but finally allowing himself a space of freedom for the first time since his engagement was decided. It’s the first time since then that he’s been able to breathe a little easier.  


. . . 

  
Unfortunately, the fog had shifted mid morning into a rain, a gentle one, thankfully, but still enough that Jongdae had been ushered back into one of the palanquins, by chance, the one Han was not occupying. Jia had followed him inside with Fei, the two of them carrying a spare set of robes. Despite Jongdae insisting that he was fine in the robes he was already wearing, they both insisted on him changing (which proved difficult in the confines of the palanquin) into dry garments. Granted, it made the remainder of the journey until midday more comfortable, but Jongdae still felt it was unnecessary. The one blessing from the rain is that both Jia and Fei remained with him in the palanquin, presumably since they were to ensure he did not fall ill from the rain but Jongdae figured it was to escape the rain themselves. As none came looking for them, he instead gently attempted to generate conversation between them.

As it turned out, both of them appeared to know some of his language, and apparently found his attempts at speaking what little he knew of theirs amusing. Despite trying to hide their amusement, it was apparent that Jongdae’s grasp of the language was quite poor. Finally, it appeared that Fei had granted him mercy, and offered slowly to teach him and gently corrected his mispronunciation. At first, she had appeared tentative, as if her speaking against him would end in reprimand, but Jongdae hastily tried to show his own eagerness at learning. If nothing else, learning the language he was to live in would grant him the ability to do more than simply play as a dependent permanent guest, and hopefully would allow him autonomy on any level he could accomplish.

By the time the consort halted for midday, the rain had finally abated, though it left the ground wet and slick, resulting in the afternoon camp being decided to be the camp for the day, considering much of the company was worn from a day of traveling in a light downpour. With some effort, Jongdae managed to convince his retainers to allow him to walk while the camp was being assembled. Finally experiencing a day where he wasn’t too weak and ill to fend for himself or, at the very least, walk on his own, Jongdae was not about to turn away from the prospect of stretching his legs. With Fei and Jia following him at a safe distance, Jongdae made to wander away from the camp through the wood around them. It was a new forest, full of smaller trees and young plants, all lively and vibrant green from the morning rains. In the distance, he could hear a small brook bubbling along. 

The day had finally begun to warm, and Jongdae found himself releasing his hold on his outer robe to allow himself a bit more comfort. The air, still heavy from the rain and earlier fog, warmed in a slow sticky rise, until Jongdae felt his own skin prickling. Once more, he was grateful for relenting and wearing the robes from Pianjian, which allowed for his skin to breathe in the humid air rather than suffocate as they would have in the long pants he would have worn back in Goyangi.

By the brook, there is a lovely clearing, filled with soft grasses, moss, and an open bank where the sun shines as it breaks through the clouds at long last. If Jia and Fei object, they say nothing as Jongdae makes for the space and takes a short respite. Though the grass and mosses are damp from the morning, they are still comfortable to sit upon and won’t ruin his robes for the remainder of the day, at least not dampening them enough that they will not dry before he makes it back to their encampment. Out in the sun, with only the sounds of the brook and the small wood around him, Jongdae closes his eyes. It’s quiet, peaceful and calm and, truly for the first time in as long as he can remember, Jongdae lets himself breathe and relax. The natural beauty he can take respite in isn’t during a war campaign, during a political journey, or any other significant court event that his father has sent him on and his time here regulated by his retainers. 

As it has been relatively clear that, beyond making sure he is clothed in appropriate garments for their culture, the Pianjian court doesn’t really have much investment with what he does. Unlike the first day of travel, Jongdae had been requested to remain in the palanquin, but the same protocol has become lax, and the soldiers don’t seem to mind him walking with them so long as it doesn’t hinder their progress or put him in harms way. In all truth, he is granted much more freedom now he is a member of this court and kingdom than he had been granted back in Pyeongyeon. There is a very high chance that, so long as Jia and Fei are with him, both of whom seem perfectly content to let him sit as long as he wants, it will not present an issue if he spends the rest of his day out here by this brook.

For how long he sits and takes in the tranquility of the space around him, Jongdae isn’t entire sure, but it doesn’t feel long enough when finally he acquires a visitor. He can hear them approaching long before he sees them, their steps even though occasionally unsteady in the underbrush. At first, Jongdae is prone to judgement, considering that no proper soldier should find it difficult to navigate through underbrush and uneven terrain, but then Prince Lu walks into view, his face still slightly pale even now, and Jongdae’s sentiments vanish with the fading fog.

“Your grace,” Jongdae greets, though he remains sitting, having no intent to leave. 

“What are you doing out here?” is the blunt response as Prince Lu looks down at him. It takes a moment before Jongdae realizes that the look on his face is not concern, nor irritation, but rather confusion, with a hint of desperation. It’s odd, in so far as, until this moment, Jongdae hasn’t seen much expression at all pass along his husband’s features, much less two very distinct expression that Jongdae can discern with relative ease. It’s unsettling, to say the least, and has Jongdae rising to his feet with relative haste.

“Is something the matter back at the encampment?” Jongdae asks, the concern rising natural considering his usual responsibility for such a large number of people. It’s habit, Jongdae thinks, trying to calm the initial rise in emotion.

“No, nothing is wrong,” Han replies swiftly, cutting him off. It gives Jongdae pause, and he turns to Han to evaluate him swiftly. “The camp is fine, I just didn’t know where you were.” In looking him up and down, Han doesn’t look so much concerned as on edge, his figure tense, noticeable even in the sleek summer robes he wears. The tension shows in his face though, and his eyes keep returning hastily to the guard that had accompanied him out here.

Jongdae recovers from his momentary silent contemplation with a soft chuckle and he moves closer to his husband, intent to evaluate, curious about what may be making the prince behave so oddly. “You could just admit you were concerned, you know. I am your husband and I can understand if-“

“That’s not- you misunderstand,” the Prince interrupts him, stepping back hastily to put space between them, his face coloring. Jongdae, interested in the easily flustered state that Han appears to have arrived in, persists, his curiosity growing.

“Were you not interested in where I had gone?” Jongdae asks, a bit more directly. He steps only marginally closer this time, and Han doesn’t pull away this time, seeming instead to steady himself and trying to regain his composure. It’s so unusual to see him clearly out of his element. Perhaps it’s being in the woods, an unfamiliar space for him, as far as Jongdae had gathered from their minimal conversation. As far as Jongdae knows, his husband, despite his title, had rarely been outside of his royal comforts, going into battle in so far as it meant remaining behind the actual lines of attack as he supervised with adequate protection to ensure his safety. Jongdae smiles, realizing that, for the first time, he holds the higher ground in this specific situation. “Forgive me, my husband, but I just wanted some fresh air and a chance to stretch my legs and happened upon this lovely natural landscape.” Han’s expression suggests he does not entirely agree with Jongdae’s aesthetics but says nothing. “You are welcome to stay here with me for as long as you like, as I am sure I am not needed back at camp for quite some time. That is, unless you had need for me?”

The comment appears to catch Han off guard, as he turns sharply to look at Jongdae, again, his expression blatant with perplexity. “Why would I have need of you?” he asks, though his voice, which usually would be laced with scathing, is entirely honest.

As shocking as this behavior is, Jongdae almost wants to laugh at the simplicity of Han’s question. Instead, he smiles and turns to the guard, curious if he can push his own limits here from what he’d learned of the hierarchical position he now holds in the court and company. “Thank you for bringing his grace to me. Please let them know we are perfectly safe and will return shortly, once we’ve adequately rested in nature’s comfort.”

The guard looks confused for a moment before Jia speaks to him swiftly. Han had opened his mouth as Jongdae spoke, but ultimately said nothing, instead watching the exchanges around him occur without intervention. Again, a strange new behavior that intrigues Jongdae, so accustomed to the prince being distant, commanding, and distinct in positioning his own person as the power and command in any situation involving Jongdae. This new almost helplessness is abrupt and, more importantly, fascinating to Jongdae, who had not anticipated his husband to behave like this nor even possess the capacity to do so.

Curious and wanting to test his suspicions, or at least take advantage of Han’s current disposition, Jongdae steps back to the grassy moss he’d been settled about earlier. “There, that’s a bit better,” he remarks, gesturing to the ground for Han to settle with him upon. “A bit of privacy and quiet, which I think both of us deserve after the last two weeks.” It is tempting for him to comment that it would be nice to just sit in companionable quiet rather than the cultivated bitter silences that had been growing over the last few days between them.

“Why did you come out here?” Han asks him, still standing even as Jongdae rearranges himself on the moss. “Why leave the company in the first place? Did no one-“

“Are they supposed to refuse me my wishes? I thought I was the new prince, with you, and therefore cultivate and command a similar authority,” Jongdae explains easily, watching Han carefully for a reaction. “None stopped me, for it was made clear that I simply wanted to move after a long day of travel and explore the area around where we are camping. It is, after all, a common practice to examine the surrounding area in case of potential threats when preparing camp.”

“That’s a responsibility for the guards and the soldiers we have traveling with us, not you,” Han tells him, a small frown gracing his pretty mouth. “You can leave such matters to them in the future and not concern yourself wish such things.” 

“I see,” Jongdae smiles. “So, essentially, permit that I may be taken care of rather than taking any responsibility for my own person.”

“You are a prince,” Han says pointedly, as if this were something Jongdae wasn’t aware of or is behaving inappropriately in.

“Do princes not take part in protecting their people and country?” Jongdae presses, his gaze boring into Han’s, pushing the unspoken challenge. “I wasn’t aware that it was my duty to remain a protected pet for my country, either former or current. Unless I am mistaken, that is also not my marriage to you was intended for.”

“No,” Han says, voice suddenly tight. “That is not what our marriage was intended for.”

“You disagree with it,” Jongdae assumes, finally voicing what he had been feeling between the two of them since their first night on the road. Han’s eyes widen and he stills, staring down at Jongdae. “This marriage between us. You don’t have to lie, and I’d rather that you didn’t, if I am being honest myself. I’d rather know and have clarity and correspondence between us if there is an initial dissatisfaction that I can do nothing about.” Han opens his mouth as if to say something but Jongdae continues over him. “I cannot change what has happened, and I cannot change that we are currently in the position that we are. It is not ideal, I will admit to you that, but I also did not agree to sacrifice a potential future and instead commit to spending my life and utility with you in a kingdom I was raised fighting with. I assume that you hold similar sentiments, but ultimately, my quarrel is not with you and I am willing to put differences aside for the prospect of a companionable coexistence outside of our consummate duties to one another.”

Silence stretches following Jongdae’s words, even Jia and Fei having distanced themselves, clearly aware that the princes were in private, or at least semi-private, conversation of an intimate nature. Han seems to have noticed it as well, the acute absence of supervision, and he closes his mouth to swallow, all the while staring at Jongdae. Jongdae, in turn, watches Han’s face, the expressive nature so foreign and yet exciting as he is witness to it for the first time. Clearly, there is more that Han has been unable to display until now, and for some reason that Jongdae does not understand, it is only out here that he allows for any of the unspoken emotion to play out. Interestingly, during the long silence where Han simply watches him, the emotion most prominent on his features is concern, that distinct crease with the intently gazing eyes. Even Han’s body language, angled slightly towards Jongdae, putting himself between the retainers and Jongdae, expresses contrary intentions than any that Han has verbalized.

Finally, Han clears his throat, looking down and away, the break in eye contact somewhat disconcerting for Jongdae. “It is evident that I have not been as courteous to you as you expected,” he says, voice tight. “Am I to understand that you are not happy with our arrangement?”

“That’s precocious to assume,” Jongdae counters, his attention flickering to Fei and Jia. Though the retainers remain at a distance, Jongdae doesn’t want to assume they cannot hear him, and while he is sure Prince Lu can be forgiven his behavior of displeasure and distance from Jongdae, he is not confident his behavior in a similar fashion would be taken as lightly. “More importantly, it is of no lasting consequence, as I have stated I am willing to compromise and collaborate for a more amicable relationship.”

“Amicable,” Han repeats, still looking away from him, his eyes now on the brook as it bubbles past them. “You wish that we were like friends.”

“Ultimately, we are husbands, but at least being familiar and pleasant within that arrangement, I believe, would be favorable, so perhaps yes, I would like for us to be friends,” Jongdae admits, watching as Han’s expression fades to look almost sad.

“I see,” Han says, though he speaks as if resigned. Then he turns to him, and the familiar shut down over his features returns, the open expressive quality Jongdae had been relishing in the passing moments suddenly gone as instead he appears impassive and cool once more. “I believe it is time we returned to camp,” he says, voice once more collected. Though still pale, Han’s condition does appear to have improved, and Jongdae’s interest has once more returned, though now as more of a wary curiosity of his husband. 

“We could stay a bit longer,” Jongdae suggests, watching Han closely.

“I’m afraid not,” Han says, and his eyes flicker, almost flashing in the sunlight. “It would not do if the court began to suspect we had gotten lost or that, worse, you decided to leave our company.”

The way Han says it appears as if he’s attempting to jest, but the cold and intent look in his gaze is fierce, as if demanding Jongdae understand something unsaid. Confused and relatively disconcerted, Jongdae lets out a shaky laugh that he knows sounds false as he steps to his husband and takes his arm. “What a preposterous notion,” he says, perhaps a bit louder than is necessary to ensure their retainers hear him. “I’m sure no one would imagine I would do such a thing. Don’t be so paranoid, I wouldn’t leave you like that.”

Han says something then, so quiet that Jongdae can’t entirely hear it, let alone discern whether it is in his tongue or Han’s own native speech. Regardless, the expression that settles over Han’s face is resigned as he lets Jongdae lead them back to the camp in silence. To Jongdae’s credit, he’s too busy pondering what had transpired to bother with conversation, and imagines he won’t have much privacy to ask Han about it in the immediate future.

As they cross back into the camp from the forest, they are surrounded by a familiar guard, led to their tent to receive their supper, and then left to the care of shifu Wang. Through the process, they are accompanied with a conspicuous guard, and for the first time since they left Goyangi, Jongdae wonders if perhaps the constant guard isn’t as much as for their protection as for their containment.

Yet, Jongdae thinks as he settles down to perform the ritual and treatment as directed by shifu Wang, he’d always had guards and retainers with him before. Such a thought is paranoid at least, and ridiculous at most. Soon, his ability to ponder over such things is lost to the treatment, as shifu Wang departs and leaves them in the care of their servants to prepare them for bed.

Perhaps it is in the pure discomfort and residual of his musings that morning, but Jongdae finds himself rolling over after the first few hours and into Han’s space on their sleeping mats. There is no protest from Han as his space is invaded, and instead he makes a soft snuffling noise, as if shifting to accommodate Jongdae. Without much more invitation, Jongdae, his skin once more with that racing hot and cold irritation, a symptom he hadn’t had since the second night, curls up into the space Han had created. As he drifts in and out of sleep, he feels Han settled against him. It is hard to discern, but he thinks he hears Han mutter something to the night, though perhaps it was intended for him.

Whatever it was, Jongdae couldn’t understand him through the buzzing in his ears and his own poor comprehension of Han’s language. The frustration that incomprehension brings with it slips with him into his fitful sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

As the days progress, the patterns of traveling begin to settle in, the constant movement during the day, the breaking down and setting up of camp in the evenings, and the slow but definite rise in heat the farther south they travel. The rhythm is clearly more familiar to the court and their companions, who had been traveling to Goyangi prior and are, in truth, simply returning to the same lifestyle, but for Jongdae, finally settling into the pace of life on the road in foreign company has taken some acclimation. Of course, it is helped that Jongdae is recovering from his treatments rapidly enough that he can once more reunite with Junhee and Hyejin, who appear to have been considerably worried at his reclusive behavior. 

Perhaps less fortunate is Han’s struggle to overcome the effects of their treatments as rapidly as Jongdae had, as he still spends much of the journey over the next week residing in the palanquins. Unlike the first few days of travel, Jongdae is allowed to walk with the procession or, in many cases, ride, which he much prefers, flanked by Hyejin and one of the Pianjian guards. While he had been unsuccessful in relative terms with picking up the Pianjian language, Hyejin shows no such struggle, often chatting with their fellow Pianjian guard, whichever is with them for the duration of their ride. She also appears to be in relative favor with all of them, something which is unsurprising to Jongdae. She had always been able to break the tension in an early relationship relatively quickly, finding common ground and establishing friendly terms with apparent ease. It is a skill Jongdae wishes he had mastered better at court, though, he assumes, the company of the court is much more discerning and entitled than the guards and general people that Hyejin prefers to spend her time with.

“I am surprised at your skill,” Jongdae tells her as the guard riding with them switches with another, one who Jongdae remembers speaks none of the Pyeongyeon tongue. At Hyejin’s inquisitive look, he smiles and nods to the guard. “You seem to have mastered their speech with considerable ease and in such a short time.”

At this, Hyejin laughs, fixing him with a look of disbelief. “I already spoke the language of Pianjian,” she says, amusement dancing on her face. “This is, in many ways, a practical opportunity for me to practice it and improve my skills, something which I imagine I’ll be needing while I live in the capital with you.” She catches the look their new guard is giving them and Jongdae tries to listen carefully as he speaks, straining to understand the foreign words as they pass by him. Hyejin answers easily, laughing soon after and the guard appears amused as well.

“I imagine I may be the brunt of a joke,” Jongdae observes, watching the two of them.

“He asked what I found so funny and I told him,” Hyejin smiles. She has a kind face, surprising on someone Jongdae knows has taken so many lives and victories in war, yet her face never lost its potential for kindness, nor has her heart. “We both agree that it is a bit silly that the husband of the crown prince can hardly speak with him, let alone his new subjects and countrymen. I fear, your grace, that it is your situation we find so amusing, but never your person.”

“I think that’s the first time someone has told me strictly that I lack humor,” Jongdae mutters, though allows himself a smile as Hyejin laughs at his remark. “Unfortunately, I haven’t yet found proper time to learn the tongue, only picking it up where I can.”

“Isn’t that your own fault for not learning it back in Goyangi?” Hyejin asks, and Jongdae presses his lips tight at the remark. She seems to find no issue in pointing out the obvious though, and Jongdae is not too proud to deny the truth of her comment. 

There is significant truth to her remark, much as Jongdae wishes he could avoid it. Back in Goyangi, there was always the option of learning the language of Pianjian, something which some of the generals under Jongdae in their battles had taken advantage of. For the most part, there wasn’t significant need of Jongdae to learn the language while he worked with such advisors and generals, typically turning instead to translators and focusing his attention on other matters. However, in retrospect, his avoidance of the language serves him very poorly, as now that skill would be invaluable in the years to come, and further allow for him to understand the goings on around him before he reaches the capital city and is officially introduced to the royal court of his new home.

“My issue is that it is difficult at present to find a suitable teacher,” Jongdae admits without hesitation. Within moments, Hyejin’s face colors in surprise, clearly not expecting this to be such a hardship for her prince.

“Can you not persuade your husband to-“

Jongdae finds himself laughing before realizing it, cutting himself off hastily in case any are listening in to the conversation. Hyejin’s expression has not changed, in fact has only intensified in her shock at the revelation. “I am afraid that such matters are rarely open to discussion,” Jongdae tells her as politely as he can. “Furthermore, we can communicate as, well, he speaks our language well enough that talking together is not too onerous a task.”

A long silence stretches following his admittance. Ahead of them, Jongdae can see Jia and Fei with Yuna and Xingxing traveling by a small cart as they rest from walking most of the morning. They are absorbed in their own conversation, though, Jongdae notices, Fei will look in his direction occasionally, as if aware of his gaze towards them. It makes Jongdae a little unsettled, and he straightens on his horse, turning his attention away from the servants. It is not the first time he has wondered if Fei keeps him under closer observation than he initially might have been aware of. In any case, the attention she and Jia keep to him is more acute than what he had experienced from servants in the past, and he does not witness Yuna and Xingxing paying the same attention to Prince Lu.

“It is not such an inconvenience to you, I could offer to try to assist you in learning the language,” Hyejin offers finally. 

“I would like that,” Jongdae tells her, returning his attention to her. “If it is not preventing you from your duties, I would appreciate some assistance, though I may not be the best student.”

“I may not be the best teacher, so I hope you won’t judge me too harshly,” Hyejin replies, the kindness once more seeping back into her features. “At any rate, the fastest way to learn a language is to use it. I can teach you some today and you can practice with either your prince or-“ she pauses, glancing at the guard beside them, “-Yukhei.” The guard startles, and Jongdae at least finally knows his name. Turning to Hyejin, Yukhei’s eyes wide, he nods when she asks him something before giving his attention to Jongdae. He bows his head, and then smiles in a sort of nervous but somewhat friendly fashion. “He’ll practice with you if you want,” Hyejin finishes.

“I appear to finally be making friends here,” Jongdae remarks quietly to himself, though Hyejin hears him and laughs. 

The remainder of the morning is spent as Hyejin begins to teach him some of the basic and essential forms of the Pianjian language, Yukhei occasionally interjecting with a new word or a pronunciation correction as Jongdae struggles to retain all of the new information. By the time they pause for lunch and a small pavilion is erected for the court and the royal family, Jongdae at least can exchange a few words with Yukhei that are deemed understandable.

It is the first day that Jongdae has seen the king properly, as he typically rides farther ahead of them in his own elaborate palanquin. For many days, Jongdae has admired the structure, mostly in that the king can sit properly rather than recline within it and the windows and doors open to allow a proper breeze to pass through it. Thus far, the king has made no effort to exchange pleasantries with either Jongdae or Prince Lu, instead reported as preoccupied whenever Jongdae inquired after his lack of presence. Assumedly, he was consumed with his council and his own affairs, though it did appear odd that he would not engage his son in matters of state or court and avoid the subject of their journey so intentionally.

In many ways, the absence felt like a formal insult, an observation on how Jongdae was held in regard and a gloomy prediction of how he would be treated henceforth. However, this afternoon there is a proper luncheon set about and it is clearly designated that the royal family dine together in the shade of the pavilion. With the arrival of the king, Jongdae stands and bows in respect, acutely aware that his husband has yet to emerge from his own palanquin and join them, a fact that his father seems displeased by.

“Know you the whereabouts of my son?” the king asks, motioning that he has received the respectful bow and is appeased. “I have not yet seen him this day.”

“I believe he is still recovering in the palanquin,” Jongdae replies, settling himself in his own cushion around the table as the king takes up repose. “I fear that his composure is more affected than my own under the administration of shifu Wang’s prescriptions.” 

The thin line of the King’s mouth tightens as he observes Jongdae, his eyes narrowing minutely before he turns his attention to the council as it arrives and settles about them. “Unfortunate,” he comments. “I expect he will recover swiftly though, or at least present himself appropriately when duty is demanded of him.” It is clear by his tone that the king is displeased with Han’s absence and does not approve. His disapproval seems to also extend to Jongdae, and for the remainder of the luncheon he is left in silence with is own food, the council and court assembled all chattering amongst themselves in the Pianjian tongue, most of them too quickly for Jongdae to pick up any words and attempt to contribute. Most of them also appear uninterested in engaging him, instead purposefully ignoring his vain attempts at trying to at least remain an audience to their conversations. At the edge of the tent, the servants linger, bringing and taking away plates of food and drink as the heat of the day rises to its peak.

It is not until a few hours have passed and most of the food is cleared away and the king has retired to another tent for a meeting with his advisors that Jongdae catches sight of Han finally emerging from the palanquin. He exchanges words with some of the guards and then his servants before approaching the pavilion himself. Upon seeing Jongdae still there, he pauses briefly before apparently collecting himself and settling himself at a respectable distance upon one of the cushions.

“I trust you rested well this morning,” Jongdae asks him. The food had been mostly cleared away, and Jia had relented in trying to push more summer wine into his glass when he refused her in the limited Pianjian he had learned that morning. As Han settles himself, Xingxing arrives with a fresh plate of assorted foods, presenting it with a small sympathetic smile for her prince.

“I was surprised you did not sit with me,” is the detached response from the prince. It startles Jongdae, who had, until that moment, expected and understood that the prince would rather prefer not to have him around, especially considering the great lengths Han took to avoid him. “Where were you?”

“Riding with the guard,” Jongdae answers, and feels a slight sense of smug satisfaction as Han turns to him abruptly, clearly surprised with the reply. “It feels poor of a new member of the court to travel with the citizens and people of his new country without making an attempt to greet and know them, or, at the very least, familiarize himself with their speech.”

“Are the servants humoring you?” Han asks, a note of a sneer in his voice as he begins to set about his meal.

“They do not respond if I try to practice my limited language skills with them, alas,” Jongdae says as gracefully as he can, despite how the reality of that remark does rile him. 

“It is not fit for a prince to make common conversation with servants,” Han mutters, looking around the pavilion at the gathered attendants. All of them have their heads bowed in respect, and Jongdae finds the taste in his mouth sour at the look of satisfaction on Han’s face.

“I suppose the differences in our cultures dictate how a lord should treat their subjects quite differently,” he says quietly, taking a sip of the water Jia had finally brought him, though with reluctance. 

“You would rather align yourself with those lesser than you?” Han asks, and it surprises Jongdae that the note of scathing he expects is absent. Turning to look at his husband, his face is impassive, blank, and his attention directed entirely towards his meal. In truth, his voice, upon reflection, had been relatively quiet, enough so that, had Jongdae not been sitting so closely, he may not have heard him.

“I would rather know the reality of affairs among my subjects from what they can communicate to me rather than from third parties and self-interested groups,” Jongdae replies, taking note to keep his own voice hushed as well.

For a moment, it looks as if Han is ready to say something further, his eyes turning somewhat distant and his expression contemplative. Then he scoffs and says, “of course you would,” with the definite note of finalizing the conversation in his tone.

That afternoon, when the pavilion is packed away and the traveling party once more takes to the road, taking advantage of the fine weather and clear skies, Jongdae rides once more with Yukhei, this time accompanied by Junhee who walks beside his horse in gentle quiet. The conversation Jongdae attempts with Yukhei is halting, poor, and clearly demonstrates the limited knowledge Jongdae will suffer with until his skills improve. At many moments, it appears Yukhei is uncomfortable with continuing to assist him, his expression reserved and his words clearly forced out reluctantly. By the time the sun begins to fall in the west, Jongdae finds himself completely worn from all of the efforts of the day, the heat, and the exertion of riding after traveling by palanquin for so long prior. When Han elects for silence when they are together, Jongdae finds himself exceedingly grateful and uncaring as to what it may indicate, instead relishing in the silence like cool water against a dry and aching throat.  


. . . 

  
Though it is a bit of a struggle, slowly, Jongdae begins to develop a grasp of the Pianjian language, at least enough of an understanding that he can pick up subtle comments and basic phrases exchanged among those around him. Though he had appeared hesitant at first and quiet, Yukhei develops to be a rather lively acquaintance that Jongdae finds himself quite enjoying the company of. While most days he ends up traveling with a variety of guards, all of varying willingness to carry on a tediously basic conversation with him, Yukhei is patient with him, enthusiastic, and even displays a small grasp of the Pyeongyeon speech that he occasionally drops, always delighted when Jongdae notices and replies in turn.

The unexpected development Jongdae hadn’t expected to find with his shaky but growing grasp of the spoken tongue around him is just how frequently he is the subject of discussion, and typically unfavorably. Overall, Han’s disposition has lessened in agitation around him and instead develops into a more quiet behavior, his speech less terse and more exhausted. It makes Jongdae wonder if the effects of their treatment, of which he experiences very little now, are truly wearing down on Han’s health. The longer the days go where the Prince appears poor of health, the more Jongdae wants to interject that something must be wrong with the procedure if Han has not improved by this point. It is not pity, per se, that Jongdae feels, but rather a frustration at the ineptitude and contentment towards obvious suffering that is maintained among the court and, more specifically, shifu Wang, who insists that, despite appearances, Prince Lu is recovering steadily from the effects of the treatment.

Ultimately, it either means that the prince is not improving and the physician is lying to save his own life or that Han is impersonating his symptoms as a way to avoid Jongdae and their inevitable duty towards one another. Regardless of the outcome, neither situation pleases Jongdae, and what pleases him less is the gossip he is now able to listen in on between the servants. While at first he had thought his own retainers, Jia and Fei, to be complacent and dutiful, the more he listens to their hushed chatter, the more he realizes how desperately they despise their assigned work, specifically the subject of their work, meaning himself. 

Furthermore, their sentiments are mirrored in the majority of the company, though many of them at least have the courtesy of treating him with respect as they travel. The servants, even as Jongdae is able to watch them with newfound comprehension, still fulfill their duties despite sharing their dislike of the marriage of their prince to a foreign bastard prince.

The title seems to follow him even here, though, Jongdae considers dryly whenever the insinuation appears, it may just be a form of insult rather than an exposure of his lineage.

Yet despite the large population of Pianjian citizens who clearly harbor a predetermined dislike of him and developed sense of tolerance for his presence among them, there is a small group of retainers and guards who are friendly with him. Some of this Jongdae will attribute to the social mastery of Hyejin and the likable nature of Junhee, who easily made themselves part of the traveling company and settled in with relative skill. Yukhei, who appears well liked among the guard, has at least convinced a few of the regular guards to at least indulge in some conversation with Jongdae, and they, at the very least, appear more amiable than their peers. Whether their behavior is solely for their favor of Yukhei or a genuine affinity towards Jongdae is unclear, but Jongdae is grateful for it regardless.

After the third week, Jongdae rises as he has become accustomed to find that his husband is awake as well. Typically, Han sleeps past when Jongdae does, often still barely waking by the time Jongdae leaves their tent for the day. This morning, however, Han is already seating up in bed, though he looks less awake and lively and more wanting to return to their shared bed. It had been over a week since Jongdae had, in his discomfort and frustration, lain closely with him, the next morning waking to find Han even more distant and removed from him. Still, Han had never pushed him away more commented negatively nor positively about the event, something which Jongdae had been musing on silently since. 

This morning, as Jongdae wakes, he finds Han looking at him, his eyes cloudy with sleep and his face more vulnerable to the emotions that flow through him in relative seclusion. It surprises Jongdae to find his husband not only awake and appearing in better health than he had been since their first day of travel, but also to find him so intently observing him. Jongdae has never been under much illusion that Han harbored any affection for him, their discussion in the gardens all those weeks ago determining that they both were well aware that their union was political and tactical at its core and their commitment to it was for their own respective desire to end the bloodshed that had consumed the majority of their lives and country.

The sudden attention first thing upon waking from a man who has, up until this point, markedly avoided and ignored him, has Jongdae feeling a bit unsettled, if not exposed. In the morning light and the fading shroud of sleep, Han’s face is more exposed, open, and Jongdae takes a moment to return the observation. It’s a little strange, and oddly intimate, to lie in bed and look intently upon the man who is, by law, his husband, and yet know so little about him and share so little. It grants this moment, which should be common, an air of forbidden quality, as if Jongdae is invading into a space that he shouldn’t despite how it is entirely within his rights to be there, if not closer. 

Upon observation, Han is clearly still half awake, and the softness in his features betray this the most clearly. He looks upon Jongdae as if sad, though without a pitying edge to his eyes. Instead he looks restrained, hesitant and yet resigned, and it leaves Jongdae wondering if Han is entirely aware that Jongdae is also awake and aware. The urge to speak, breaking the silence and the slow stillness between them gnaws within Jongdae, but the pleasant quiet feels too fragile and precious to touch, and so Jongdae does nothing but lie and listen to the sound of their breathing in the quiet of the tent. 

It is the sudden call of a nearby bird that seems to break the stillness of the morning and this soft contemplation, and Han appears to come to awareness, leaning away and blinking, finally meeting Jongdae’s eyes and realizing he had been awake. If he feels discovered, he says nothing, though the faint flush upon his cheeks betrays it regardless. It makes Jongdae smile, seeing a more human and somewhat silly side of the typically composedly cool man beside him. 

“It appears this past night was easier for you,” Jongdae pauses, not entirely sure if he should venture to use Han’s name, as previously suggested by the prince. “You look better than you have these past days, at the very least.”

For a long moment, it is unclear whether Han will even reply to him, his gaze flickering in and out of focus as his cool expression struggles to maintain itself upon his features. Then he relents a hint of a smile and sits up a bit more. “That’s a mercy, if but a small one,” he says, voice slightly rough from waking. During the course of the night, Han’s hair had begun to loosen from its neat knot atop his head, leading stray strands of his dark hair to cascade down about his face haphazardly and giving him a softer appearance. Jongdae finds that he prefers this variation of the prince, and feels a small pang of dismay that he knows it won’t last through the day. “I believe that, at last, I may be recovering from the treatments and my body finally relenting to their nature.”

“At last, we will be on equal grounds once more,” Jongdae ventures to tease. This comment appears to offend Han slightly, but only for a moment before he is sighing and pulling away. “Perhaps,” Jongdae continues, wanting the pleasant air between them to continue. “If you are feeling well enough today, you might ride with me? The fresh air I find has always improved my condition and disposition regarding the treatments and I would enjoy the company.”

“Do you not already maintain company now?” Han asks, turned away as he prepares to ready himself for the day and the inevitable arrival of their servants. 

“Naturally, I have ventured to create amiable conversation with those that are in my presence,” Jongdae says carefully, noticing the line of tension about Han’s shoulders. “However, the company of guards and my own retainers is never comparable to your company,” Jongdae pauses, watching as Han pushes himself to his feet before adding with a softer note to his voice, “Han.”

The use of his name catches the prince off guard, clearly, as he stills for but a moment and Jongdae watches, wondering how exactly the prince will respond to him. The moment is decided for him, however, as the servants enter and whatever Han had been assembling himself to say is lost amid the morning procedures of dressing and chatter. By now, Jongdae submits entirely to the work of Jia and Fei, something that they both appear pleased with and which has Han’s attention lingering on him. Regardless of whether Jongdae will submit to this treatment in the long term, at least now he can subtly study the techniques they employ in setting his robes about him.

Surprisingly, as Jongdae proceeds to where Hyejin and Yukhei await with his horse prepared, he finds that Han is accompanying him with his own retainers. In all honesty, Jongdae had not expected Han to take him up on his offer to ride together that day, especially since Han had still presented as slightly weak over their morning meal and examination, yet he makes no comment aside from asking for his horse and briefly introducing himself to Yukhei. 

“I must admit I am surprised that you decided to accept my invitation,” Jongdae tells him as he mounts his horse, watching as Han ascends to his own steed beside him. When Han does not immediately appear to intend to reply, Jongdae continues, careless of whether Han is listening or not. For the last week, most of his existence has been with little to no interaction with Han, and thus continuing about his typical proceedings despite Han being there is not beyond Jongdae’s capacity. “I hear that we will be passing through one of the larger cities on the way to the capital today.”

“The city is called Binzhe,” Han informs him, much to Jongdae’s surprise. “Stay close to me as we travel through. It would be auspicious for us if they were to recognize you and your relationship to me.”

“You mean to say you want it to be obvious that I am your husband,” Jongdae half teases him and Han glances at him from the corner of his gaze. It doesn’t appear amused, but that does nothing to deter Jongdae. “As you wish, though I am sure they will understand considering I doubt the nature of your visit to Goyangi was implied to be a simple pleasantry.”

At this, Han turns to look at him fully, a new expression on his features that harkens to surprised contemplation as he looks Jongdae up and down. “Indeed,” he finally replies. The signal horn at the front sounds, indicating that they journey is once more resumed and both Jongdae and Han spur their horses into motion.

After a few moments of riding in relative silence, Yukhei moves slightly closer, catching Jongdae’s attention and asking what it was he and the prince had been discussing, clearing having struggled to follow along with his limited grasp of the Pyeongyeon tongue. Smiling and already fond of the guard, Jongdae explains as best he can in his own limited grasp of Pianjian speech, slowly and undoubtably with a few errors, but Yukhei appears satisfied none the less, nodding and looking between Jongdae and the prince with understanding. He stills after a moment and then bows, muttering a quick formality before withdrawing from Jongdae.

Confused, Jongdae turns to find Han watching him, a pronounced frown upon his face.

“Have I done something to offend you?” Jongdae asks, somewhat irritated at Han’s clear displeasure.

“He is a soldier,” Han states.

“Yes, I am aware of that,” Jongdae retorts, feeling his irritation grow. If Jongdae is not allowed to speak to soldiers or servants in a friendly fashion and the majority of the court present seem more inclined to eat the dirt stuck to their shoes than to strike up a conversation with him, he may as well die of boredom now. “Have you never spoken with soldiers before? Or is this a new experience for you as well?”

The remark clearly does not amuse Han, and his frown deepens as he watches Jongdae. His next question surprises Jongdae, however. “Where did you learn our language? You did not speak it before.”

Up until this moment, Jongdae hadn’t thought much about how frequently he now transitions between his own native tongue and practicing Pianjian speech with Yukhei, Hyejin, and any others who are willing to suffer his poor ability. Hearing the spoken tongue all around him has become so natural that, in all honesty, it is when he hears his own language spoken that Jongdae finds himself a little lost. It hadn’t occurred to him that Han was completely unaware of his pursuits to learn how to speak with Han in Han’s own language, and more importantly, the language of his new country and people. 

“I’ve been learning,” Jongdae replies, allowing himself to feel a moment of pride at the look of surprise on the prince’s face. “Hyejin started teaching me and I practice and learn as much as I can from anyone who is willing. I could not very well arrive in Pianjian’s capital city, husband to the crown prince, and speak none of the language of my new home.”

Half expecting Han to come back with a bit of a dismissing remark, Jongdae is instead met with silence as Han simply observes him, much in the same manner as he had that morning. His eyes are intent, focused, and there is a contemplative notion about his figure that makes Jongdae feel somewhat exposed. It is not exactly comfortable, though Jongdae refuses to let his sentiments reflect on his person should it result in the satisfaction of his examiner. 

“He’s improved a lot, your grace,” Yukhei interjects suddenly, diverting the attention of both the princes. He looks somewhat terrified to be speaking out of turn, but flashes a hint of grin in Jongdae’s direction none the less, pressing on. “We are lucky to have such a persistent and devoted husband paired with you. His humor certainly isn’t unappreciated.”

“Humor,” Han repeats, turning to Jongdae once more, his expression less intense and his gaze softer. “I feel deprived, Jongdae. You appear to be withholding from me.”

“Not at all,” Jongdae replies, a sting of resentment following Han’s quip. “I am always willing to share with you, in the instance that interest and attention is expressed. I had thought I was respecting your choice for solitude and respite as of yet. Forgive me if I was mistaken and I should have been entertaining you otherwise.”

From the expression on Han’s face, the delivery had precisely the desired effect, and Jongdae smiles beautifully in his slightly soured face. “Apologies,” Han tells him, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. That, if anything, pleases Jongdae even more. “I shall endeavor to impress differently upon you from now on.”

“I would appreciate that,” Jongdae tells him, smiling further as Han’s expression sours more.

To the immense gratitude of Jongdae, Han makes no more effort to exclude Yukhei or his companions from conversation that morning as they ride to Binzhe. The company of the guards and retainers with their patient contributions to Jongdae’s still improving language skills is a welcome relief, and a well needed distraction, allowing for a sort of buffer between himself and Han in casual and calm conversation. In fact, it is not until the limits of the city are within sight that Jongdae realizes he’s been talking quite smoothly with Han for the better part of the last hour. Furthermore, their conversation had developed from what Jongdae recognized as stunted and tentative to an almost amicable exchange of ideas, opinions, and soft yet gentle corrections to Jongdae’s speech that he hadn’t fully realized were occurring until made aware.

It is, for lack of a better description, pleasant. Until now, Han had never presented as a talkative individual, let alone an amiable one, yet the longer the conversation meanders, the more relaxed he appears to become, the less cool and composed and the more inclined his person is to genuine reaction and expression. 

The procession takes an extended break at the outer edge of the city limits for food and to water the horses. Over the course of lunch, where they are joined by a few members of court and their retainers, Han’s behavior once more returns to his cool and composed demeanor, as if bottling himself back into the refined crystal figure he is expected to embody. His disposition remains cool and distant as they resume for the afternoon, finally entering Binzhe. It isn’t until they’re within the city walls that Jongdae realizes how large of a city it is, most of the streets packed with citizens who all look as if they crowded the streets regularly, with or without a royal procession traveling by them. At first, Jongdae occupies himself with doing as was asked of him, staying close to Han and holding himself with appropriate decorum, allowing himself a smile and acknowledgement of the bystanders occasionally.

However, the further they travel into the city, the more the chatter of those around them begins to seep into the ranks of the procession. The guards move closer in their ranks around himself and Han, and most of the servants move within the protection of the outer guard as they pass through the streets. What is most apparent is the unabashed conversation, not about the king and prince, but about Jongdae himself. Of course there is the expected curiosity, the pondering aloud as to who he is and what his attachment to Han may be, but less favorable and easy to ignore is the sentiment that follows.

“That’s him, isn’t it? The boy they married our Prince Lu to in order to end the wars. I hear they refuse to stop fighting unless they had the union.”

“I’d rather we still had our honor rather than a filthy foreigner for our prince’s husband. It’s unnatural, regardless, and our prince deserves better.”

“Look at him, bold as fire to be showing himself off like he hasn’t crushed our lives under his hungry heels.”

Of course, Jongdae isn’t sure he fully grasps the comments that fly past him, but the sentiment behind them from the tone and looks being cast up at him are indication enough for him to begin feeling uneasy. Back in Pyeongyeon, the general sentiment of the populace was of agreement towards the union between the feuding kings, and it had been impressed upon them with the kings arrival with his court that the sentiments were shared in their own country. Evidently, that had been a lie, and Jongdae finds himself realizing fully that rather than traveling here as a signal of peace between their two nations, he has come in as an unwelcome foreigner and likely facing no small level of danger.

The only greater threat to a kingdom than a foreign army is the foul sentiment of its own people, which will rip apart the fabric of a country with more ease and brutality than any war. 

Appearing to sense his discomfort, Han leans towards him and speaks in Jongdae’s own tongue. “Ignore their chattering mouths,” he says calmly, though his face is darkened with displeasure. 

“I can’t say I didn’t expect this,” Jongdae admits, thinking back to his earlier reservations before the marriage had even taken place. “After all, I am venturing into previous enemy territory, though this time as the enemy of those I am expecting to be my hosts. It would be foolish to assume they’d welcome me graciously.”

“But you’re not coming here simply as a traveler, you are returning with me as my husband,” Han says, his voice a bit more terse, his eyes directed forward with purpose. “A fact that the people would do well to remember.”

It’s odd, seeing Han suddenly so agitated by Jongdae’s own discomfort, something that he had previously shown very little interest in. Yet surrounded by agitated whispers and disapproving faces, he appears almost protective of Jongdae, even against his own people. 

“Be patient with them,” Jongdae says, though still feeling somewhat taken aback. “They are your people, after all, and they have seen the horrors of this war far more personally than we.”

There is no reply from Han, and soon they fall into silence once more, the whispers and chatter from the crowd swallowing up around them. Of any welcome Jongdae may have expected into Pianjian’s people and country, this is not what he expected. Though, he considers as he steals glimpses of the people they pass, he should have considered this and the fault is his own for committing such an oversight.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> relatively short chapter update but at least it is something! :D

It takes the entire day before they are through the city of Binzhe, after which the court makes camp late. It surprises Jongdae that they don’t stay within the city, especially since there is far more food and entertainment within the walls and clearly the court and their affiliates could do with some other company than that which they have been isolated to during the majority of the journey. As the camp is hastily set up, the members of court all begin to complain about the process taking so long, the bits and pieces Jongdae overhears irritating and clearly disregarding the reality of how time consuming the process is as well as the labor that is required.

While it had been viewed as unseemly in his own country, Jongdae had always taken note and participation in the setting up and breaking down of camps when he was away from the palace compound in Goyangi. In many cases, especially when they were out for hunting parties or perfunctory patrol missions that he elected to join on, he would take upon the tasks of caring for his own person, often times asking his retainer to simply give him guidance but otherwise take care of themselves. Frequently, Jongdae’s retainer, a quieter and composed man named Kyungsoo, would leave him be, only making quiet comments when Jongdae was performing tasks in error. The behavior was often scolded whenever brought to the kings attention, primarily because he held little favor for many of the ‘common’ behaviors Jongdae chose to embrace regardless of status.

In this respect, listening to the scattered comments and hushed criticism from the court while he watches them be waited on with full respect, he finds himself bitter with resentment. Prince Lu, still pale and beginning to look thinner from all the light meals he’s taken as effect from the treatments, for his part remains silent on the matter, though he looks somewhat agitated that he cannot retire hastily for the day. It had been a long ride through the city and had left everyone tired, the exertion of remaining poised and representative of the court, country, and the new union between Pianjian and Pyeongyeon clearly having drained the prince beyond his capacity.

There is a small part of Jongdae that pities him, sympathetic with the symptoms he knows Han is suffering and wishing he could recover as hastily as Jongdae had. The effects of the treatment have almost entirely subsided, and Jongdae no longer finds himself dreading the arrival of shifu Wang when the meal is finally presented and they are allowed to retire. For his part, Han looks less than thrilled to see shifu Wang himself, and shows particular reluctance to go through with the treatment as they had done the last few weeks. Jongdae completes them without issue, and watches as his husband hastily retreats to their bed without a second word to him.

“Thank you for your services, shifu,” Jongdae tells the physician as the other man lingers. To his credit, shifu Wang appears somewhat concerned at the princes’ disposition, but otherwise brightens when he turns to Jongdae. Though he still makes Jongdae slightly uneasy, overall, he has grown somewhat fond of him, and learned that much of Wang’s almost hovering behavior truly comes from a dedication to his craft. “I will take care of him tonight should any issues arise.”

“If I may ask, your grace,” shifu Wang begins with a small bow. When Jongdae nods in consent, he proceeds, “it appears that you have adapted quite rapidly to the treatments. Would it be presumptuous to assume that your symptoms have abated?”

“They have,” Jongdae confirms, conscious of how, despite having retired, Han can most likely hear all of their conversation. “I find my sleep no longer interrupted with fits or fevers, and I wake feeling as normal as one can while traveling, I suppose. I also no longer suffer the fatigue and internal distress that was prevalent in the first week.” At his words, shifu Wang’s face brightens significantly, almost threatening a smile as his eyes light. “Am I to assume that this means the treatment is successfully adapting my body?”

“Indeed, that would appear to be the case,” shifu Wang sounds almost delighted, though his typical meandering tone makes it slightly harder to discern, his poised behavior and demeanor always prominent before his reactions to either good or bad news are displayed. “In truth, I believe that, should your condition remain stable and the prince continue to recover, it may be possible that when we arrive at the palace, the consummation may be appropriate, if it is auspiciously aligned.”

“Very good,” Jongdae nods, having suspected as much. Carefully looking across the room, Jongdae seeks out the form of his husband, curled up on the bed and obscured from their vision with the bed linens. “Thank you, once more, shifu, for your services.”

“It is an honor,” shifu Wang bows deeply, his long braided hair slipping over his shoulders as he backs from the tent, still bent in a bow.

Without wanting to break the sanctuary of evening and rest of his husband, Jongdae quietly prepares for bed, wondering exactly how it will be to consummate their marriage if Han still relatively avoids him and seeks to be apart from him rather than together.  


. . . 

  
The following morning dawns auspiciously, clear weather and Jongdae awakens with little to no discomfort from the treatments. Once more, he finds Han awake as well, though stirring in time with him rather than before. It is a bit odd to wake up with him, watching as Han shifts, eyes blinking open blearily and struggling to focus from the fading confines of sleep. This morning, his complexion is less pallid, though he looks perhaps more miserable to be returning to wakefulness than Jongdae has seen thus far in their time together.

Though whatever may be plaguing him will have to be accepted, as Jongdae knows they do not have significant time to delay in bridging the topic of why they are united and considers that he has allowed Han ample time to acclimate to the notion of sharing time with life with him. Sitting up and resigning himself to wakefulness, Jongdae notices Han’s attention on him, his tired eyes following his movements and lingering. “Morning,” Jongdae greets then, looking down upon his husband and offering a small smile.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong,” Han mumbles, still laying in bed. “But I believe we already did the whole morning thing yesterday.”

The utter misery in his voice has Jongdae smiling a bit more in amusement at his husband’s childishness. It’s the first time he’s really seen it properly display itself, as most often he’s noticed Han conceal it with cool expressions or a bitten cheek knowing that to speak or behave in such a manner would be inappropriate. Yet finally, it appears, he has become familiar and comfortable enough with Jongdae to allow him to see this small element of himself. It is, for lack of a better word, progress, and Jongdae, emboldened by this display, presses forward with optimism.

“Unfortunately, they are a daily element we must accept,” he tells his husband, smiling when Han lets out a soft moan and pushes himself further into the bedding. “I would suggest that when you are king you could forbid them, but alas, I believe mornings and other such earth bound elements are beyond the jurisdiction of kings and mortals.”

“What’s the point of being a king then?” Han mumbles, and Jongdae has to bite back a laugh at how utterly petulant he sounds. Instead, he watches with amusement as Han finally pushes himself up and rises from the bed. “You slept well,” he observes, looking down at Jongdae.

“I did,” Jongdae confirms, looking at the thin form that Han makes in his bed clothes. It is concerning that he has become noticeably thinner over the last few weeks, and it makes Jongdae worry for his health. In so far, Han has shown no significant weakness aside from fatigue from the treatment, but the loss of weight is still concerning none the less. “I assume you still struggle with the treatments at night?”

“Not as much as I have,” Han admits, wandering to the wash basin and cleaning his face. “I am surprised you recovered so quickly. I imagine you may have a stronger constitution. From what I remember of rumors, they depicted you as a rugged prince, somewhat-“ Han cuts himself off abruptly, and Jongdae notices his cheeks have acquired a delicate flush.

Whatever it is Han had been about to say, Jongdae knows better than to be offended. During the wars, he heard his own fair number of rumors and gossip, propaganda, about what the crown prince of Pianjian was like. An icy and brutal man, vicious without care of whether his men or his enemies were slaughtered in battle. There were many distasteful rumors, from painting him as vain and obsessed with his own beauty to a cruel sadistic creature who was as pale as snow and who stripped his prisoners of their flesh for pure joy. In so far as Jongdae knew at the time of the rumors, they were just that, and more than likely held little to no truth. It can only be assumed that there would be similar or at least a number of rumors about himself, more than likely some of them based on his actual presence on the battlefield to feed their imaginative incarnations of what kind of person he was.

“I have always been resilient to diseases,” Jongdae amends, rescuing the awkward silence. Still watching Han, Jongdae presses forward, addressing what he truly wants to discuss. “I imagine it works in our favor, considering a strong constitution allows for our union to be a success, in so much as our treatments are concerned.” Across the room, Han has stilled, a towel limp in his hands for drying. His complexion has, if anything, gone slightly paler. “According to the physician, it may be possible that we can proceed with things when we arrive back at the capital and palace. Perhaps we-“ Jongdae is cut off abruptly as Han casts away the towel and seizes a dressing robe, wrapping it about himself almost feverishly. Surprised and faintly irritated at his behavior, Jongdae frowns, standing himself and moving after his retreating husband as the prince begins to make for the entrance of the tent. “You can’t run from this.”

“I’m not running,” comes out of Han’s mouth like a brutally cold slap as he turns sharply to look at Jongdae. His eyes are cold, his expression tense, and his posture rigid. It snaps whatever Jongdae had been about to say into silence. “I’d like some air, cool and refreshing. It’s suffocating in here.” 

In so far, Jongdae has allowed Han these moments of superiority and haughty childish avoidance, but this early, on matters that are so significant, he finds his restraint absent. Reaching out to grab Han’s wrist, he holds on firmly, his own stern expression on his face as Han’s eyes widen in shock, and he tries to jerk away with a slight angry curl to his lip. 

“Let go of me,” Han demands, his shoulders tensing and eyes flashing. 

“We are going to have to discuss this at some point,” Jongdae tells him, his frustration and impatience with Han’s behavior bubbling to the surface. “Whether we want to or feel well enough to or like it or not, this is going to happen, and that will be a lot less torturous for us to experience if we _talk_ about it before-“

“Fine,” Han spits, finally wrenching his wrist free of Jongdae’s firm grip with surprising strength. They stand for a moment, staring at each other harshly, Jongdae feeling the solid weight of determination and resignation grounding him and holding him strong as Han stands before him, positively bristling with agitation. “Later,” he grinds between his teeth. Closing his eyes, he appears to try to calm himself, breathing out shakily through his nose and visibly trying to relax himself. “I am going for a walk. Have Yuna prepare my clothes for me.”

Before Jongdae can say another word, Han is sweeping himself hastily from their tent, leaving a bitter sensitivity quivering in the air behind him. It feels as if air is allowed back inside when Han has finally left, and Jongdae allows himself a deep breath to try to calm himself. It is ridiculous, he admits to himself, that he must work to try to discuss something so fundamental about their relationship and its intended purpose. The topic of consummating sex is not one that Jongdae wants to have to go into without any prior conversation on the matter. First of all, he has no idea if Han has any experience with sex, let alone sex with other men, a matter which Jongdae considers fairly important considering.

When the servants finally arrive at the tent, Jongdae smiles at their confused faces, relaying the information to Han’s servants before allowing Fei and Jia to attend to him. While Jongdae would like to remain optimistic, he doubts that he will see much of Han today, and therefore decides that he’d rather spend his time with people whose company he enjoys than seeking out the bristling and potentially hostile company of his husband. Informing Jia and Fei of this, his dressing is accommodated for riding and he leaves the tent with determination to at the very least refuse to allow Han’s behavior to effect his ability to enjoy and lead a full life to the best of his ability. It may not be the future he had thought he would end up with, but much of Jongdae’s life has been about figuring out what to do when what he thought he knew and wanted is quickly pulled away from him and he is given a new life to work with and adapt to.

In the palace of Goyangi, one of Jongdae’s tutors, one of the few that lasted more than a year, had once remarked to him that the people who survived the best showed no only determination and bravery, but resilience, the ability to adapt to adverse or unfavorable situations with relative haste and little struggle. It had struck such a chord with Jongdae that he had turned to witness it among all of those around him, finding it to be particularly true of those battle worn soldiers who could return to life and all of its fickle changes. In this moment, Jongdae would like to consider that he is one who demonstrates resilience, especially considering his own history is not as typical or consistent as he imagines Han’s had been, nor, he supposes, what most of those around him believe his life to have been.

The most important matter of that fact is that it is not worn like a badge of honor, but rather that the resilience and adverse or convoluted background and development remain as past events, as bringing them up at present would, most likely, put Jongdae in even more of a precarious position than he already might be.


	8. Chapter 8

The days before they arrive at the capital are fast passing, and the caravan has begun to show clear signs of anticipation to once more be home and settled in a familiar domain. During the days, Jongdae has become a recurring figure riding among the other retainers, meeting some of Yukhei’s friends and becoming more familiar with the court. As far as he has experienced, most of the lords and ladies are less interested in him than they are in speculating upon his behavior, though in the rare case they do engage with him in conversation, Jongdae does his best to appear respectful and reach out amicably, aware that having friends and familiar persons in the court would be to his advantage. There is also the fact that he is becoming increasingly aware of how lonely and difficult it will present to be once he is placed at the court with the prince who has, since the tense conversation a few mornings past, blatantly avoided Jongdae. 

On the final day of travel, one of the members of court, the heir to one of the high noble families, proposes that they ride together. In so far, she is one of the few members of court to have approached Jongdae without what appears to be significant agenda. As far as Jongdae might presume to believe, he wonders if she finally reached out to him after being bored by the usual members of court and seeking a respite from the typical petty double edged gossip that he often over hears.

“Your getting better,” Lady Song tells him as they begin to ride for the day. This morning is already hot, the air heavy and the traveling party appears more fatigued, the night before having been just as sufferingly hot and making proper rest difficult. At Jongdae’s inquiring look, she smiles with genuine amusement. “Your grasp of our language has improved,” she tells him, speaking a bit slower.

“Thanks to the patience of all of my teachers,” Jongdae replies, which has Lady Song smiling a bit more. “I think I’d still be bad company if I couldn’t talk with you.”

“Especially considering that your husband doesn’t appear to give any value to your efforts,” Lady Song replies, and though her tone is light, the words strike Jongdae as harsh and, for a moment, he wonders if he misunderstood her. When she continues, he realizes he hadn’t. “It’s rather a shame, considering I believe I am correct in assuming that part of your pursuit of learning our language is in an effort to make your marriage more functional.”

“That would be a benefit, yes,” Jongdae admits carefully, wondering if this conversation is breaching too much into sensitive territory. Though Lady Song appears casual and relaxed on the subject, Jongdae does not want to appear as distasteful in his responses and potentially insult the people he must maintain good favor among. While Lady Song may be of a militant family (which further surprises Jongdae from her amiability towards him, considering her family probably saw tremendous consequence from the previous wars) and therefore perhaps not participate so much in the extravagance of court, she is still a highly influential figure, and one whom Jongdae would like very much to count among his allies. “Though I admit it is selfish on my part as well, considering I’d like to understand when people are insulting me.”

That earns him a full laugh, and Yukhei, who rides beside Lady Song as guard this morning, tries very unsuccessfully to hide a smile. “More importantly, it grants you the ability to chastise them and remind them that they are in servitude to you, not the other way around.”

“I am honored that you receive me so kindly,” Jongdae tells her honestly, though wondering still if her behavior is genuine. 

“It was a decision that was for the best interest of everyone,” Lady Song says, an heir of diplomatic rationality settling about her. Thus far, most of the court and servants still seem to be somewhat displeased with the union, a fact which has become more and more apparent the longer Jongdae is among them. Though they are polite and respectful to him directly and absolutely put on airs when in his presence, he can still see the discontent among them. “It was time that the relentless fighting be stopped, and the bleed upon the land and the finances of everyone who was involved was absolutely excessive. Your marriage stops that, and for that I have more reason to be accepting of you than offensive.”

It feels almost too practical for Jongdae to accept, but he nods regardless. “You’re right, of course,” he tells her, in truth sharing the same sentiments, though his aligned more with the tremendous effect it had on the citizens and their ability to survive rather than the financial stress. Ultimately, a ruler will always find a way to procure wealth. 

“Am I correct in assuming that the effects of your treatments are no longer an issue for you?” Lady Song asks. While the question may seem invasive, Jongdae also recognizes that, considering every single person who has come on this journey will have no disillusion as to why the marriage and process are significant. They also will have no reservation in ensuring that it proceeds, and the ability of one of the princes to conceive a child from the success of their own combined efforts and the support of the treatments absolutely would be widespread knowledge. Still, it makes Jongdae flush against his will. “I can only assume, seeing as you have been visibly in good health over the last few weeks and appear unaffected by the stress of riding most of the day and walking the rest.” Lady Song throws him what could be an impressed look. “It doesn’t truly represent the classic image of a refined Prince.”

Electing not to reply to the teasing remark, Jongdae instead bows his head in confirmation. “The treatments stopped affecting my health some time ago, though I regret to say the same cannot be said for Pr- my husband.”

“No,” Lady Song sighs. “He’s just as delicate as he wants to appear.” The way she says it sounds somewhat derisive, as if she is alluding to some element about Han that Jongdae has yet to learn and understand, knowledge that is still out of his reach. Before Jongdae can ask what she might mean, however, she lets out another sigh, shakes her head, and continues. “But that’s something that will have to be addressed at a later time. Perhaps this afternoon when we rest.”

The conversation from that point on is far more casual, easier for Jongdae to follow and it isn’t long before Lady Song draws Yukhei and another guard named Kun into the conversation, telling Jongdae about all their favorite places to go in the royal city. It brightens the mood on an otherwise heavy morning, though the air in the back of Jongdae’s throat still clings with a feeling of foreboding. 

By the time the sun reaches the highest point around midday, most of the traveling group has dissolved into silence, simply abiding the heat and exertion of travel taking all of their energy. Even in his more suitable robes, Jongdae finds himself struggling and desperate for relief. When the pavilions are set for the midday meal and rest, Jongdae looks for Han, wishing that he could rather spend time with those who may want to enjoy company with him, like Lady Song, but resigned to the impending reality that he and Han will have duties to fulfill once they arrive at the royal city and palace.

The display of food for that afternoon is thankfully cool, which Jongdae considers nothing short of a miracle considering the heat that he knows the cooks must have battled to prepare the spread. Upon settling himself among the cushions and mats, Jongdae waits, assembling in his mind what it is he will talk with Han about and how best to approach the topic. The last few days have offered very little conversation between the two of them, Han avoiding him during the day of traveling and requesting silence during meals, excusing himself that he is tired or unwell from the treatment. As far as Jongdae can observe, he is gaining strength, his complexion improving and he once more appears to be eating a healthy amount. Yet in evenings there is little to no conversation, instead Han retiring as soon as the treatment with shifu Wang has completed and shutting Jongdae out.

It has been nearly an hour of Jongdae sipping with lessening patience before Han shows up in the unexpected company of Lady Song. The noblewoman takes up a purposeful seat with the two of them, smiling at Jongdae and directing a bit of an accomplished grin at her prince. “I believe his grace lost track of the time,” Lady Song informs Jongdae, plucking a ripe apricot and biting into the soft flesh. She smirks at Jongdae and it is only after she does so he realizes she spoke to him in the Pianjian tongue, a fact which clearly has given Han pause as he looks between the two of them.

Recovering, Jongdae smiles at her, selecting a lychee fruit for himself and delicately peeling the skin. “I think it would be easy to lose track of many things in this heat. It lends very well to confusion and lethargy.” 

“I was on a walk,” Han tells him succinctly, speaking to Jongdae in Pianjian for the first time since they’d met. Typically, Jongdae has found the speech of Pianjian a little hard for him to discern, the sounds and dialect slightly harsh for his ears. Hearing Han speak now though, his voice gives the language a softer quality, one which Jongdae has never heard before, almost like his mouth is gently embracing the words rather than pushing them out into the air. 

“In this weather with your composure, that surprises me,” Lady Song says boldly, looking up at her prince with an unabashed expression and nonchalance. “I would have expected you to be lain out under the canopy here, letting your very attentive husband learn of your concerns and perhaps assist you.” She glances at Jongdae then, and while Jongdae almost wants to say that Han can very well take care of himself, especially considering his behavior, he knows she is, in fact, baiting Han, not himself.

“I would never impose upon him like that,” Han quickly replies, a bite in his voice as if he’d taken offense. It takes Jongdae aback, and for a moment he nearly interjects before he realizes, from the look on Han’s face, that his offense is not for himself. That realization shocks him, to say the very least. Settling himself down among the cushions and mats and selecting from the assortment of cured meats, Han shows no sign of having done anything remarkable or telling. “Regardless, I have been in repose for too long and a walk, whether the weather is fortuitous or not, is better for my health than lying about in further atrophy.” 

“I was going to comment that you looked like even my greenest men could best you in a fight, but I thought it better if I were to be polite,” Lady Song says, her mouth quirking as Han’s expression smooths out cooly. 

“Of course, being polite is always your brand of behavior,” he replies, then finally sits back and turns to Jongdae. “Was your morning pleasant, at the least?”

“I had the company of the Lady Song,” Jongdae answers and Han’s expression lightens with surprise. 

“That must have been exhausting,” he says and the complete blatancy catches Jongdae off guard.

“On the contrary,” he amends, turning to nod in Lady Song’s direction. “I rather enjoy her company. She’s been assisting me in developing my language skills.”

“I hope she doesn’t teach you too much,” Han replies, reaching for more food. It’s the first time Jongdae has really seen him eat properly in the entire time he’s known him. Even at the palace compound in Goyangi, Han had eaten lightly and quietly. To see him eating so readily amid conversation is a bit out of character and Jongdae almost wonders if he’s taken ill. However, from the behavior of Lady Song, nothing about the Prince’s behavior appears to be out of place as she makes no indication that he is acting strangely. In fact, it suggests that the odd behavior had been up until this point and that Han is typically like this, a notion which only further perplexes Jongdae.

“I’ll teach him enough to handle you,” lady Song laughs, plucking another apricot for herself.

“That sounds tremendously ominous,” Han tells her.

“Well, you’ll just have to spend more time with him yourself to ensure that I don’t,” lady Song replies, and the bright smile on her face is indication that this juncture is _exactly_ the goal she had intended in sitting down with them. Han’s mouth closes slowly and he slows minutely, his gaze lingering upon lady Song as if realizing the trap he’d set for himself with his behavior over the last few days. In his own affairs, Jongdae feels rather smug, watching Han struggle with the complex of whether to admit he had been avoiding Jongdae and which led to this or denying it and clearly lending to further insult to himself, or, most interestingly, proving that the opposite could be true and thus occupying more of his time with keeping company with Jongdae.

Sitting up carefully, Han looks briefly at Jongdae before turning again to Lady Song. “You suggest that I have neglected my husband.”

“As I spend most of my days in conversation with him and riding with him during travel, I would say I may as well be married to him. He’s very charming and I must admit that after spending such prolonged exposure in his presence, I am somewhat tempted to steal him away from you.” Song’s eyes are dancing, but less in humor and far more in challenge. It strikes Jongdae for the first time that perhaps she is not as benevolent as she presents, and instead poses a far more dangerous companion than he had initially suspected. “It would be relatively easy, after all, considering we are now friends and rarely do I ever receive competition from you stealing his company from me.”

The conversation is absolutely inappropriate, and a part of Jongdae feels uncomfortable for this discussed in such blatant terms, but thus far the servants have made no sign of concern and the guard waits without response or reaction. Indeed, Han appears offended but not to the point of calling Lady Song’s behavior to attention.

“Are you implying you will seduce my husband?” Han asks her, cooly but with definite disapproval in his tone.

Lady Song’s mouth turns up in a clear smirk. “Perhaps not, but I can assure you that someone will if you don’t.”

The challenge is so evident Jongdae cannot help but to sit himself straighter and fold his hands into his lap. This kind of talk isn’t necessarily uncomfortable, but it would have, back in his own court, have been cause for treason as Lady Song has progressed to making what could be considered veiled threats even if they are not simply playful warnings. The number of times Jongdae saw men and women who made lesser comments to high lords or members of the royal house, let alone his father, end their day with either execution or imprisonment has a prominent curl of disease winding in his lower belly. While it is true that Han doesn’t appear to have the same sentiments as Jongdae’s father about such remarks, the past still lingers in Jongdae’s mind and the aversion to such situations, especially semi-publically, is very much ingrained in him. 

“However, such talk is not fitting for lunch and I am neglecting my own companions,” Lady Song announces, rising quickly to her feet and smoothing her robes back into proper place. “I hope to ride with you into the city tomorrow, Jongdae, if company is favorable.”

Jongdae nods and thanks her, wondering if she had noticed his discomfort and knew it would still linger even if she left. Her absence has him feeling cold, despite the heat, and the winding disease does not abate as he is left with Han and their spread of opulent food. Despite his loss of appetite, he selects himself another lychee fruit and carefully begins to peel it.

“It appears that I have been a poor husband,” Han’s voice startles from beside him, and Jongdae turns to him in vague surprise. Truthfully, Jongdae had expected that Han would return to his silence and regular behavior, ignoring him and requesting silence as he avoided Jongdae while in his full presence. That is not to say that Jongdae particularly enjoyed these long stretches of uncomfortable interaction but none the less, he had come to expect them. It gives him pause and as he turns to Han he finds his husband frowning slightly and staring at their food as if displeased with it.

“In what manner?” Jongdae tentatively asks, giving Han his full attention, curious to what may come from him.

“It is-“ Han takes a deep breath and then turns to him. “I have been neglecting you. That was- that was not a part of the agreement and it puts me in violation of our treaty.”

“How politically put,” Jongdae says, thoroughly unimpressed. The brief moment when Jongdae had almost expected Han to be self aware and accountable vanishes with Han’s words. “I’m relieved to know that whatever affection one might suspect from you is entirely presented for appearances.”

The shocked look on Han’s face suggests he had not expected Jongdae to say anything of the sort. “I have offended you.”

“You have avoided me and publicly disregarded me,” Jongdae tells him evenly, perhaps embolden by Lady Song and honestly becoming discontented with Han’s behavior. “You realize that when we arrive at the palace they expect to bed us, whether we are invested or not.” Han’s face, which color had finally begun to return too, pales somewhat. Jongdae’s irritation rises and he finds himself pursuing despite his better senses. “We have been enduring these treatments for weeks, and you suffering most of all but regardless of our suffering, that is inconsequential to how painful it will be if we fail in our duties, all of which will be made harder if you avoid and refuse any efforts to become familiar with one another.” Han’s eyes have widened somewhat, and Jongdae takes in a deep breath to calm himself down, feeling his frustration begin to affect him. “All which is a political issue, indeed, and which ultimately results in that yes, you have been neglecting me, and yes, it is noticeable.”

“You-“ Han appears to struggle. “You are concerned with our- our consummating our marriage.”

The simplicity of that statement does nothing but encourage and build on Jongdae’s frustration, as Han’s understanding and ability to listen to him clearly is restricted to minute detail rather than the vast scope of what has been occurring over weeks. “I am certain that I did not marry you without purpose,” Jongdae tells him flatly, and holds back as much as he can from his voice. “I had been under the impression that you cared enough about the union to put in the effort to establish a relationship with me before duties took precedent. I certainly did, but I admit that it is difficult to court you in any respect when you refuse to spend time with me and only then in clear dislike and avoidance.”

It would be tremendously easy for Han to admit to his behavior, and a significant part of Jongdae wants to him, to confirm the reality that Han’s behavior has been due to his own dislike and the brutal reality that while their marriage is a political contract and therefore treated as such, it is little more than that. It would be easy for Han to admit to Jongdae that he has no concern for him, and that nothing will change, that Jongdae is correct in assuming that outside of marital duties and court requirements, Jongdae will find no comfort or friend in Han.

Instead, Han lowers his gaze and says, “it appears I have acted poorly, and for that I apologize.” 

Utterly confused and very much tired of Han’s behavior in its entirety, Jongdae finds that he has lost all that remained of his patience that day. The heat has been oppressive, the anxiety brought on from the dialogue with Lady Song, and now Han’s confusing and ever frustrating antics have depleted Jongdae of what little tolerance he has. Rising and ignoring whatever remains of his food, Jongdae leaves the pavilion before Han can say much more, only pausing to tell Jia to reserve some of the food for him to finish later.

“Is everything alright, your Grace?” Jia looks at him with vague concern. It is the first time she has truly spoken to him outside of replying to his questions or requests.

“It is,” Jongdae lies, and then strides away before he is given any reason to linger and further suffer the company of his husband.


	9. Chapter 9

The capital of Pianjian is a breathtaking sight. The full experience had been explained before, the travelers, soldiers, and lords who had traveled to the capital of the kingdom had relayed in the past the walls, the architecture, and the atmosphere of elegance and grandeur of the city itself, but it isn’t until Jongdae sees it with his own eyes that he realizes the words passed to him could never do the city justice. Like many of the cities in Pianjian, it is walled, great high stone barriers with patrols strolling along the edges, their banners marking their progress. Beyond the walls, which Jongdae must pass through in a palanquin for safety and protocol, the city opens into beautifully crafted old buildings of wood, stone, and iron. The wood is all painted, elegant reds, yellows, and vibrant greens, the slate roofs curving down like the sides of steep mountains as the streets are lined with stone carefully and evenly set. The streets are lined with posts that each support a lantern for when darkness falls, and beyond just the architecture, the vibrancy, the energy, and the intensity of people and the noise they generate swallows up everything. 

The space inside the palanquin feels stolen and Jongdae wastes no time before pushing himself out. Beside him, Han turns sharply, reaching out and grabbing his arm, almost as if fearful. Since that morning, his complexion has become increasingly paler and he had asked Jongdae to sit with him in the palanquin. He had spent most of the journey making pitiful conversation, mostly remaining tight lipped and surreptitiously holding his belly as if it pained him. “Where are you going?” he asks, his grip on Jongdae’s arm remaining firm, surprising considering his appearance and behavior.

“To see the city that I am to live in for the rest of my days,” Jongdae replies cordially. “You are welcome to join me.”

Rather than accept his offer, Han’s lips tighten. “You should remain in the palanquin,” he says, tugging slightly on Jongdae’s arm, pulling him away from the door. At Jongdae’s clear disagreement, Han relents slightly, his grip loosening as he says, “at least until we have passed the outer city. It would be a very poor affair if the foreign prince that we worked so hard to arrange with was lost to the far reaches of the city with only a basic grasp of the language.”

“I’m sure it would be an excellent opportunity to improve my skills,” Jongdae replies, though consents and sits back with his husband. If his remark amused Han, he gives no sign, though he does relax now that Jongdae has relented and sits with him again. “I am sure I will be able to improve at court, once I am settled and our affairs are all in order.” Jongdae watches Han for any reaction, and when none follows, he persists. “After all, I would like to have others to speak with aside from yourself and my retainers.”

“You expect to have much social-“ suddenly, Han stops himself, a pale and discontent look falling over his face. At first, Jongdae thinks him ill, but then he sits up straighter, his complexion unchanged and instead looks sternly out the window. Following his gaze, Jongdae sees one of the guards moving away from the slatted window, having clearly been walking much closer than necessary. As if reading Jongdae’s irritation, Han reaches out and seizes his wrist, holding tightly to prevent him from moving.

“He had no place to be-“

“It is the purpose of our guard to protect us against those who might do us harm, and we have yet to pass to the upper reaches of the city where citizens such as ourselves can travel without fear or consequence among the residents,” Han tells him firmly, though there is an edge to his voice that is poorly hidden by the formal excuse. “You assume too much.”

“I do not,” Jongdae argues. Perhaps it is the heat of the palanquin, the excitement and the anticipation of being released into the city they have been traveling to for weeks, or his own continued frustration with Han, but he unguarded his speech. “I assume that I, having experience and training in the arts of war and combat, am more than capable of traveling through a city where I am intended to make my home and family.” At the word family, Han winces, further driving Jongdae’s irritation. “If you cannot trust your own people to accept you among them, then what trust do I foster by displaying the same fear upon first impression?”

“The trust that you respect and honor the customs of these, your new people,” Han snaps. He looks ready to continue, but then doubles over suddenly, reaching out and slamming his fist to the wall of the palanquin. The action so startles Jongdae he falls back from him, confused and gripped with concern at the dramatic change in composure. 

“Han?” he asks, reaching for his husband just as the palanquin jerks to a stop and the door is torn open hastily. 

“What is wrong?” asks the concerned and stilted voice of one of the retainers. As Jongdae reaches out to Han, trying to asses what may have happened, the retainer exclaims something Jongdae cannot understand and he is suddenly gripped from behind and pulled from the palanquin. 

In a flurry of movement and confusion, Jongdae is deposited in a small carriage with Hyejin and Yukhei while retainers and attendants swarm the palanquin, shift Wang presenting himself quickly. They have stopped in the middle of the street, and a strong line of guards stands between the citizens and the events of their prince. Yet the scene itself is quite the spectacle, onlookers gathering quickly and all trying to catch a look at what may be occurring before them. Jongdae feels very much the same, trying to catch a look and feeling somewhat helpless kept to the side and out of the way. 

“What happened?” Yukhei asks, his young face lined with concern. 

“I’m not sure,” Jongdae admits, watching as Han finally emerges from the palanquin, looking, for all intents and purposes, pitiful as shifu Wang assists him. “We were talking and then it was as if a sickness suddenly grabbed him and he collapsed. I don’t know what is wrong.”

While Yukhei looks further concerned, Hyejin narrows her eyes, leaning closer to Jongdae. “Was he ill this past night?” she asks quietly. 

“No,” Jongdae confesses, remembering with no small amount of surprise how he had been amazed to sleep through the night with Han and detect little to no discomfort from his husband. Indeed, that morning Han had acted well, at least while waking, and it hadn’t been until their attendants arrived to dress them that he had begun to appear in poorer health. “In fact, I had believed that he may have been improving and adapting to the treatments as I had done, that the effects had finally alleviated.”

“I thought his grace appeared in better health this day,” Hyejin says, nodding before bowing slightly. “But, of course, the body and health can be fickle. I imagine it was simply a turn of luck.”

Yet, as Jongdae watches Han talk with shifu Wang, he can’t help but think about what she had said. True, most of the morning Han had appear with poor complexion and had held himself as if ill, his posture poor and behavior that of disease, yet… 

Yet otherwise, his strength had clearly returned, as had his appetite and there were still moments where Jongdae had noticed how _well_ he looked, almost identical to his composure back in Goyangi. Of course, in the case that this were remotely true, it would mean that, despite his behavior and actions, Han was actually improved in his health and condition and had, for whatever reason, been intentionally representing himself otherwise. Now, as Jongdae watches him speak with shifu Wang, he notices that, despite holding his abdomen as if weak, Han’s posture is impeccable, and he is holding an area that is far higher than he had been clutching when Jongdae was pulled unceremoniously from the palanquin. Deep in conversation with the physician, Han gestures weakly to his left side before nodding and producing a very exaggerated wince. 

The people lining the streets have all begun to notice more than simply the commotion around the palanquin, and when Jongdae looks away from where Han is now being ushered back into the palanquin, he sees upturned faces all directed at him. They are chattering amongst themselves, eyes bright with curiosity, some of them almost predatory. Jongdae recognizes that look, having seen it before in Goyangi and many of the other cities, even small villages and settlements in Pyeongyeon, the expression of awe and hunger. Here, exactly what kind of hunger is represented is still foreign to Jongdae, but it sparks a familiar fire of desire to learn what it is and understand it. 

“Your grace,” speaks a retainer, approaching the carriage and bowing to Jongdae, her long braided hair falling down her back. “Shifu Wang must attend to the prince but asks that you endure the remainder of our journey to the palace with your guard. The prince is in very poor health and shifu requests he treat him for the remainder of the journey.”

“I understand,” Jongdae tells her, though his skepticism grows as he watches her expression. “Please, inform them of my concern and assure them I will be well taken care of.”

“At the very least,” Hyejin says as the retainer respectfully departs, “you get to ride in good company and see the city. It’s beautiful, is it not?”

It is, and Jongdae does consider this as they begin to move once more. It is true, he finally gets to experience the remainder of the journey in full appreciation of the city. Quickly, he learns that rarely do nobility or the members of court acknowledge or communicate with the citizens of the lower city, as Yukhei had hastily reacted when Jongdae responded and smiled at a young woman who called out to him. Amazingly, it had taken very little time for the citizens to realize who he was and somehow, before they reach the next level of the city, another walled portion of larger homes and establishments, the news of his arrival has proceeded him. A few spectators among those gathered call out to him, using his name, shouting a few words in his own tongue that has him smiling. 

There is clear resentment, but it is not as intense or deep as Jongdae had expected, most of those they pass watching him curiously, almost expectantly. There is surprise, and Jongdae can pick up enough and discuss with Yukhei for confirmation that they are surprised not to see their prince with Jongdae. It shocks him to hear their disapproval for Prince Lu associated so closely with their surprise at how ‘bold’ and ‘brazen’ the new foreign prince is to be displaying himself so blatantly. 

“The city is beautiful, though I fear the residents may not hold me in high favor,” Jongdae finally admits when they near the palace and court districts, a new wall rising and adored with intricate stonework and masonry. 

The upper districts are quieter, and most of the court is presumably with the entourage that has escorted them all of this way, and it is thus no great surprise to see the upper sections of the city significantly quieter as they pass through the gates. Chimes from within the homes and small shops that line the streets float through the air creating a sense of serenity and concealed elegance. 

“Give them time,” Hyejin tells him as Yukhei hops from the carriage to march beside them. “They’ll warm up to you just as your own people did. They’ll learn to trust you, respect you, and love you, just as we did.”

“Please, mind your words, Hyejin,” Jongdae tells her, a soft smile on his features. “If you continue to speak in such a way, I’ll find myself missing my old home when I should be focusing on loving and settling into my new one.”

“You’re a prince,” she says, though her voice is quiet. “You may be permitted to not be content at all times.”

Thinking back on Prince Lu’s behavior and the watchful eyes of the court, Jongdae finds himself speculating on that subject, but says nothing. Ahead of them, he can see the high walls of what can only be the palace and royal compound. As they move among the streets and establishments, he sees members of their traveling party begin to break off, returning to homes and residences with clear intended completion of their duty. A few of them bid the company farewell, but it is evident that the entire party is not required to return to the palace and accompany them. 

The walls of the palace are surprisingly plain, but upon passing through the strong inner gate, a venerate compound of extravagance and refinement stretches beyond into the buildings, gardens, and complexes of the palace. It is more consolidated, Jongdae observes, than the palace compound had been in Goyangi, but the interconnected buildings and structures appear far more complicated and intricately structured, far more likely to easily lose oneself in. It looks perfect for hidden corners, rooms, and corridors that one may disappear or conceal oneself in, something that further peaks Jongdae’s interest and appreciation. 

Finally at their destination, Jongdae is aided down from the carriage, feeling the weariness in his muscles and legs from riding for so long and the extended journey finally taking their toll. Jia and Fei collect him, directing that Hyejin and June must return to the other servants and retainers. 

“Am I not to return with the court?” Jongdae asks, realizing they are leading him away from where the last of the nobles and royal company are moving. 

“The king and shifu Wang requested that you and the prince rest for the remainder of the day,” Jia informs him, standing so closely she may as well be holding onto him as she guides him through the compound. “The journey must have made you weary and-“

“I would like to see the palace,” Jongdae tells her, somewhat irritated at being constantly pushed into recovery when it is the last thing he desires. “I am well recovered and would prefer to learn my way about the compound before being sequestered to my quarters with my husband.”

“His grace has already been escorted to your shared-“

“Then he may rest until I am familiar with the palace,” Jongdae interrupts, staring hard at Jia, not appreciating having a servant argue with him and feeling as if she is controlling him and has done so since the first day of their journey.

“With respect, your grace, but this is the wish of the king,” Fei interjects, stepping closer and bowing. “A full tour may take place this evening or tomorrow with a suitable guide. We wish for your full health and energy following the recovery of Prince Lu’s relapse.”

_Relapse_. The behavior on her part indicates that she is entirely aware, just as Jongdae is, about the true importance of their returning to the capital. It hadn’t struck him until her statement why he was so eager to avoid spending more time with Han, aside from the inherent frustration his husband has developed a talent for generating. Now they are finally returned to the palace, preparation will begin for the consummation and it will be expected to occur soon. 

The prospect thrills Jongdae less than it had before, which says very little, considering prior his attitude was more resigned acceptance. Regardless, the remark does sober him, and the reality behind his presence and the ultimate purpose in immediate context does suffer some of the irritation that had grown. Breathing in the heated air of the compound, Jongdae wills himself to find composure and peace as he nods to Fei and Jia and says, “very well. Take me to my chambers.”

“Yes, your grace,” Fei replies as Jia begins to move them along in the intended direction. Thankfully, the shaded open air halls of the complexes are a relief from the heat of the sun, and Jongdae is grateful that there is a gentle breeze which flows through the buildings. They climb through a number of twisting corridors and pass by countless rooms and complexes to the point that Jongdae would be entirely lost if navigating it alone. It feels like a significant journey before they finally arrive outside a large building and shuttered doors, where the retainers stop and Fei carefully, quietly, pulls open the door to admit them.

Inside is dim, the windows shaded and the lamps have yet to be lit. The familiar forms of Yuna and Xingxing are present and, as Jongdae’s eyes adjust to the light, he sees Han in repose on the bed as shifu Wang hovers by, softly directing the servants to attend to him. On the other side of the room stand two new servants, two young men, who wait with their heads bows and hands folded as they wait to be summoned. Quietly closing the door behind them, Fei snaps her fingers and both of the young men look up. She says something harshly that doesn’t sound like the language of Pianjian Jongdae had been learning, and the young men make their hasty way towards them. 

As Fei involves them in conversation, Jongdae turns his attention towards shifu Wang and Han’s reclined form. In the dim light, Han looks significantly better, color returned to his face, though he still wears a piteous expression and his actions and gestures suggest weakness. Jongdae narrows his eyes, watching as shifu Wang fusses about him before a sudden tug at his shoulder has him startling and turning sharply. The new servants startle backwards, bowing in respect as Jia steps forward, saying something quickly to them as Fei approaches. 

“They wish to undress you and assist you in bathing,” Fei explains, nodding towards the servants.

Frowning, Jongdae turns to Fei. “Is that not your responsibility?” he asks, having grown familiar and accustomed to the care and company of Fei and Jia, despite how their presence was not always trusted. At the very least, they could now communicate with each other. 

“In the palace you will be attended to by your own personal servants,” Fei explains, looking very slightly amused. “Jia and I are court retainers, and were brought to make your travels comfortable. In the palace you will have personal servants that are better suited to your needs and,” she pauses, clearing her through very gently, “accommodations.”

As the implication sets in, Jongdae finds himself wanting to protest, to press that there is no need for them to provide special servants, and the prospect frankly turns his stomach. Though he is aware that servants and proprietors often are employed for the services of the flesh as well as their labor, he has never been favorable to the notion of utilizing other people in such a way. His expression must reflect his sentiments, as Fei quickly amends.

“They are not to service, but simply to assist,” she hastily continues.

“And yet my husband does not possess his own set of-“ Jongdae glances at Yuna and Xingxing “-assistance.”

“His grace has specifically asked to not have aids,” Yuna explains, walking to them offering her contribution. “The Prince is learned enough without the assistance of servants to prepare and accommodate his needs. You should not be concerned with such things, your grace, as Prince Lu is more than capable of understanding and performing with men in an intimate nature.”

“And it is assume that I require assistance,” Jongdae says, looking at the young me.

“It was simply an additional comfort we wanted to ensure you did not lack,” Fei explains, and though her tone indicates respect, the way she looks at him once more gives Jongdae the distinct impression of being handled. “It is your choice to utilize their skills or not, but regardless, they will be your servants from now on. Perhaps it would be pleasing for your grace to bathe and change into something a bit more relaxed? They will aid you in this. Their names are Guanheng-“ the young man on the left bows, “-and Chittaphon,” the other young man, taller and with bowed lips, bows as well. 

As Fei and Jia turn to leave, clearly intent on retiring their care to Chittaphon and Guanheng, Chittaphon reaches forward without hesitation to tug at Jongdae’s hair. Reeling back, Jongdae reflexively catches his hand. Shocked and clearly mortified, the young man freezes, frantically trying to pull his hand away as he says something in Pianjian that Jongdae cannot fully discern. Fei stops as all attention in the room is drawn to the scene.

“What-“

“They want to brush and clean your hair,” Fei explains. 

“No,” Jongdae says, firmly. Thus far, while Jongdae has allowed for the servants and retainers to take care of him, dressing him, caring for him, _handling_ him on a daily basis and otherwise making him feel relatively helpless, he had been able to maintain the care and braiding of his own hair. Fei and Jia had, at Han’s direction and the agreement of Yuna and Xingxing, left the task of combing and arranging Jongdae’s hair to him, regardless of whether it had adhered to the style of Pianjian. In this moment, Jongdae realizes how such a small thing suddenly being threatened at also being taken away from him unsettles him, the last of his own control and autonomy over his own self care and identity being stripped away. 

“You are a member of the royal household now,” comes a suddenly clear and commanding voice from the bed. Jongdae turns, his grip still strong on Chittaphon’s wrist, to see Han sitting up on the bed. All illusion of sickness has faded from him, his shoulders broad and strong, his gaze intense in its direction at Jongdae, leaving little to no room for question. “It is appropriate that you adapt and adopt our customs and traditions and embrace them as you are to embrace me.”

The comment lashes so harshly that Jongdae drops Chittaphon’s captive wrist, his anxiety and futility suddenly condensing into anger rapidly in his chest. Turning to the servants, he smiles as best he can. “May I please speak with my husband?” he asks.

“After you have-“

“Now,” Jongdae says, his voice sharp and leaving little room for argument. “Then I will consent to your intentions and requests. But first I _will_ speak with him.”

To his credit, it is the first time Jongdae has presented as his former self, a high prince with command and authority who used to drop orders and commands to a battalion of soldiers. For a brief moment, the air in the room quivers and Jongdae wonders if they will challenge him, before shifu Wang breaks the silence and steps forward. “Indeed, the princes needs their rest and these details can be resolved at a later time today.”

In a flurry of movement, the servants clear the room, shifu Wang leading them, and the soft sound of the door closing finally leaves the room in peace, with Jongdae and Han still looking at each other across the room. 

“I must rest,” Han tells Jongdae, suddenly looking a bit less commanding from his pose on the bed as he looks at Jongdae.

“Tell me, my husband,” Jongdae says, approaching the bed and feeling bolder than he had thus far. “What exactly is wrong?” 

“The treatment has made a resurgence,” Han tells him, frowning as Jongdae nears though he doesn’t pull away. 

“Indeed,” Jongdae says, sitting down delicately on the bed a distance from Han but maintaining steady eye contact. “Now we are finally arrived and we must, as you said it, embrace, the treatments which you had been recovering from at a steady pace, have a sudden resurgence.”

In a split second, the cool and held composure on Han’s face shatters, and suddenly all of his emotions burst through. They have been bottled up for a long time, Jongdae realizes, repressed over and over and kept at bay during travels where they were being watched and as of yet, his home territory had yet to be under his feet. Now, home and returned to his territory, the necessity for Han to maintain appearances is clearly lifted, as his anger and clear disagreement pour out of him. 

“You really want this?” he spits, voice suddenly vicious as he leans towards Jongdae, body tense with dislike. “You want to be forced to have sex with me?”

The anger in his chest has condensed into a steel strength that gives Jongdae nothing but composure and surety as he watches his seething husband with calm wrath. “I wasn’t under the impression that we would be forced. I have no intention of forcing myself upon you.”

“They don’t care,” Han snarls and his fingers spread through the linens of the bed to tangle in them and fist viciously into the delicate fabric. “They’ll be there,” he says, voice suddenly tight. “We don’t get to do this at our own pace.” A slow drip of ice slips down Jongdae’s throat and he swallows. “You want that? You’re invested in this, in the two of us _fucking_ in front of a confirmation panel-“ Jongdae’s stomach turns and he holds himself almost rigidly still, “-just to make sure that we’re performing our duties, that we’re _consummating_ as best we can. They don’t care if it’s you or me, or both of us, they just want proof and they’ll _force_ us to continue even-“ his voice breaks and dies, and with it all of the furious energy that had been holding him seems to vanish as Han somewhat deflates. His eyes close, his face pinching and he turns from Jongdae.

A part of Jongdae had wondered, but a larger part of Jongdae was aware that if they resisted or proved ‘difficult’ something of this nature may occur. It’s not unheard of, though the depiction Han paints is more severe than Jongdae likes to imagine. Yet, ultimately, Jongdae knew they would have to consummate with audience, to ensure it had occurred. The knowledge had been present before Jongdae had agreed, and he had thought, at least initially, that Han was also aware and had accepted the terms. This relative fit that Han has been progressively throwing over the last weeks has done nothing but confirm for Jongdae that any effort he makes to attempt to make their experience with each other remotely amicable and, optimistically, pleasurable, is not viewed in the same way by his husband.

“And you have no intention in trying to make it otherwise,” Jongdae summarizes, his voice cold and direct. It clearly surprises Han, spurring him to look up with a mix of surprise, indignation, and ire on his features. 

“You want that to happen? That’s something you desire?”

“I would never want to be forced to embrace someone,” Jongdae says coolly. “However, it was my intent to at the very least get along with you, talk about this, and become comfortable with one another so that would not be the case.”

“You’re comfortable being forced to-“

“I am not forcing myself,” Jongdae snaps, his irritation gaining traction against his willpower. “I am sparing myself the idiocy of your stubbornness, though ultimately, I believe that will end in us suffering regardless.”

“ _My_ stubbornness,” Han repeats, his voice tight. “Are you saying that-“

“What do you expect me to say?” Jongdae interrupts, beginning to glare. “That I find you distasteful? Disappointing? That the idea of embracing you is abhorrent? The only way I could is if I were forced because I have grown to distain you as much as you have me? I am not you, and I will not admit defeat so easily and resolve to hate you simply because you chose to so intensely dislike me.”

The final note of Jongdae’s accusation rings and hangs between them, Han’s figure still and rigid upon the bed as Jongdae watches him without forgiveness. Minutely, Han’s fingers tense in the linens, and he finally wets his lips. “Has my behavior truly suggested that?” he asks, the words squeezing from his tightened throat.

“I thought I had already made that clear,” Jongdae says, holding back from sneering. It would be tremendously easy to dislike Han, to allow the frustration, irritation, and anger that arise so quickly around him to develop into a fully grounded sentiment about the man. However, considering the circumstances, the prospect of hating his husband is not one Jongdae will accept, and while he will not excuse is behavior, Jongdae will make every effort to prevent himself from bowing to such a low behavior that would ultimately wound them both. “If you so resent me and the idea of embracing me brings you such revulsion that you must feign illness just to avoid it, then I pity you,” Jongdae continues, holding his voice steady with tremendous effort. “That does present itself as a misery, however it is a misery of your choosing. With this information at present, I will make no further presentation to appear in good standing with you, and thus expect you will not care if I elect to occupy myself in other areas of life.”

“In what other aspects could you possibly occupy yourself?” Han scoffs, and Jongdae resists the urge to lash out at him. 

“For one,” Jongdae persists, keeping his voice level. “Returning to the daily training that I maintained while in Goyangi. During traveling and treatment, it was inappropriate, but now I am where I am intended to live, I see no reason not to return to maintaining my ability to kill any man or woman who threatens my life or the lives of those I care for.” The last words are heavy, and they draw Han’s eyes back to him, the meaning behind them registering with his selfish disposition. 

“And what of our-“

“It’s sex, Han.” The bluntness of Jongdae’s words has Han wincing, almost recoiling and it turns Jongdae’s mouth into a sneer. “If you cannot handle the idea of sex with me, then I will consider our agreement and the millions of lives lost to endless war mean nothing to you.”

“That is not true,” Han snarls, suddenly brought back to animation as he looks up at Jongdae. 

“Then prove it,” Jongdae tells him, voice low in a threat and challenge. He doesn’t wait for Han to reply, instead standing swiftly and turning to leave, roughly unfastening the hooks and ties of his robes as he walks. Rather than obeying what is probably the etiquette, he draws back the door harshly himself and finds the two serving boys waiting at a respectful distance.

They look startled to see him, especially in his current disposition, and Jongdae finds he has little energy or mind to care in the slightest. “You are here to serve me and ensure that I am bathed and presentable for this court and culture?” he asks, voice coming out harsher than he prefers, but again unable to bring himself to care. 

The younger looking, Guanheng, nods rapidly, stepping forward and motioning to his companion. “Your grace, we meant no disrespect in-“

“Fine,” Jongdae interrupts. “Do your work and I’ll perform mine.”

It has been years since anyone but Jongdae has touched and cared for his hair, not since Kyungsoo had taught him how to assemble his own plaits. It feels odd, invasive and makes Jongdae’s bones itch to have it handled, combed and twisted after his bath into the familiar top knot he’s seen on the nobles of the Pianjian court, but considering all of the confrontations Jongdae can see in the future, this is the least consequential. It is far better than he save his energy for those fights.


	10. Chapter 10

The process of bathing and being clothed seems to take significantly longer under the assistance of Chittaphon and Gunaheng. The baths themselves were excellent, warm water and high stone walls and wide pools with clear pleasant water, yet the process was hardly enjoyable as Jongdae was frequently tended to by his new servants. The actual physical process of being handled so blatantly put his already simmering temper in an even less complacent state. Yet it paled in comparison to the long and intensive process of dressing that followed. The robes of the palace are less fluid than the robes Jongdae had been dressed in during their travels, the sleeves still made of the same light and flowing fabric, but long and draping. It feels horrible unnecessary though Jongdae refrains from commenting, instead focusing his attention on not snapping at Chittaphon as he tends to Jongdae’s hair. 

For as long as Jongdae had remembered, ever since he had grown of age and his training had been graduated to proper combative regiments, he had been wearing his hair in long wrapped braids and plaits. They had been far more practical, the style itself a symbol as well as a practical method of keeping hair tamed and tied away. To have his hair brushed out and then delicately folded to knot against his skull makes Jongdae itch, curling his hands in and out of fists in the secrecy of his long sleeves. 

Overall, the final product is rather cumbersome, as Jongdae’s hair falls in a way he is unused to and the length and style of his robes now prevents his movements rather than adjusts for them. This is the first time he has ever seen such styles, the court traveling with them wearing similar attire to Jongdae and Han during the journey and in all cases where Jongdae either engaged in or assessed combat and the soldiers from Pianjian during the prior wars, this form of attire was never present. In truth, the reasoning is apparent, as the garments are entirely ill suited for combat or practical use and movement.

For the first time since entering the kingdom, Jongdae has the seeping and unsettling feeling of being held captive, his body and self being held back and controlled to such a degree that he is no longer himself, dressed in clothing that strips him of who he is and placed in circumstances where he cannot move freely or even to defend himself. He is trapped, wrapped up in the linens and formality of a culture and kingdom he still has yet to properly understand. It is not a welcome sensation by any means, and it culminates in the familiar drive in Jongdae to return to his old coping habits that assisted him back in the palace compound in Goyangi.

“Do you know where the training compound is?” Jongdae asks when Chittaphon finally steps back from his hair. It doesn’t feel bound well enough to withstand what Jongdae would consider a proper training session, but perhaps that will strengthen Jongdae’s claim and necessity to keep it in a familiar style that retains some of his autonomy. 

“Your grace?” Guanheng looks confused as he continues to attend to the various ties that climb up the back of Jongdae’s garment, following the curvature of his spine.

“The place where-“ Jongdae frowns, not sure if perhaps he is saying the phrase incorrectly. “The soldiers will practice.”

Still, Guanheng appears confused, sharing a quick look with Chittaphon as he completes the delicate ties at the nape of Jongdae’s neck. “They are far,” Guanheng answers slowly. “A long way through the palace, and filled with soldiers and their help. It is not a clean and proper place.” The way he says it, coincided with the look he exchanges with Chittaphon, has some of the fire that had quieted rekindling in Jongdae’s chest. 

“Yes, that sounds like what I am asking for,” he says, the patience clearly worn thin in his voice. “I expect you know the way?”

Though they clearly do, both young men exchange a look and fall into obviously contentious silence. Jongdae turns to them, watching as they appear to hastily complete a silent conversation between themselves, one that Chittaphon clearly looses, much to his frustration. Guanheng smiles, turning to Jongdae and bowing low. “Your grace, would that be wise? After such a long journey, would it not be better to enjoy the gardens, or a respite in your quarters, or perhaps you would prefer a tea-“

“I would like to see the training grounds,” Jongdae states as directly as he can, frowning at Guanheng. “I am rested well enough, and I would like to see where it is that I may continue to keep my body as well as mind in good condition.”

The remark seems to shock Guanheng, and he appears genuinely shocked. “Why would you concern yourself with that?” he asks. Chittaphon steps back beside Jongdae, perhaps detecting Jongdae’s smoldering temper rising. 

“Am I expected to believe that I will never have to fight for the rest of-“

“Why would you need to fight?” Guanheng asks, clearly taken aback, and then, realizing himself, dropping into a low bow. “Excuse me, your grace, I did not mean to interrupt you.”

Yet his comment is enough to confirm Jongdae’s rising suspicions. The notion Jongdae had about Prince Lu having rarely participated in battle, and seeing the manner and conduct of many of the court of Pianjian confirmed that they had rarely, if ever, needed to exercise combative skills despite their roles as protectors and maintainers of the country. That labor was taken up by the civilians, and the assumption that Jongdae would resign himself to being a pampered and handled prince as well, that the idea of him fighting was taken in similar shock and perceived as unseemly in his position, does nothing but stoke the anger that had been growing all day within him. 

“If I may,” comes the soft voice of Chittaphon as he steps forward. Guanheng throws him a swift look but is clearly ignored, Jongdae having had enough of his contribution. Chittaphon’s voice is lilted, and he speaks slowly, as if the language gives him similar difficulty as it does Jongdae. “I know the way to the practice fields. I can show you.”

The cooperation from him is surprising, and takes Jongdae by surprise somewhat as he surveys the servant before him. To his credit, Chittaphon has a softness about him that radiates, but under that, presented mildly now, is a clear affirmation, a confidence and resilience to conflict and adversity, a stubbornness that Jongdae finds himself not only admiring, but finding a small point of solidarity with. “I would like that,” Jongdae tells the servant, curious at his behavior but none the less appreciating his willingness to cooperate with Jongdae. 

It is indeed a long distance from the baths and the quarters where Jongdae and Han are to be residing to the practice fields and training grounds, but unlike before, Jongdae pays veritable attention as they walk and wind through the corridors and halls. This is a path and journey he wants to be able to make on his own, regardless of being accompanied by servants or retainers, as he has no intention in the slightest to become remiss in his training and skills. It is also clear that Chittaphon is leading him correctly, as Guanheng appears increasingly flustered and agitated, looking about them furtively, clearly knowing that this is not what they were ordered to do upon taking up their roles in caring for him. It also appears as if the path is not the conventional path that the court frequents, as the servants and assistants that do encounter them express shock and confusion at seeing Jongdae sweep past them in relative swiftness, clearly unused to higher ranked nobility passing among them so casually.

Finally, the space among buildings falls open and the feeling of open air and the scent of sweat and blood begins to waft about them. Stepping to the side and bowing low, Chittaphon gestures to a large entranceway. “This is the way through to the training grounds,” he says, his gaze still directed downwards. Some time prior, Guanheng had slipped away, presumably preoccupied with another servant or perhaps to report Jongdae’s behavior and condemn Chittaphon. Jongdae is glad of his absence though, and smiles at Chittaphon, thankful to finally have found someone who appears to show him some respect and with whom he perhaps shares some degree of common ground. 

“Thank you,” Jongdae says, and almost smiles as Chittaphon’s head snaps up in shock, his cheeks coloring at the gratitude. It is clearly uncommon to thank servants, and Jongdae resolves to do so from then on.

“Ya!” shouts from down a side corridor. The sudden voice startles Chittaphon, who scurries to the side still maintaining his bow as Jongdae turns in curiosity to the new voice. A tall man, dark featured and handsome, his jet black hair cut short to frame his face, strides towards them. He’s dressed in space armor, but none the less clearly a high ranking member of the guard, his broad shoulders decorated with honorable colors that Jongdae recognizes from the captains and generals of the Pianjian military. His bowed lips are pressed into a clear frown as he looks at Chittaphon, but they open in surprise and he pauses when his gaze shifts to Jongdae. Regardless, as he approaches, the man addresses Chittaphon, his tone rough as he addresses the servant. “What are you doing here? You don’t belong here.”

“Apologies and no disrespect, General Huang” Chittaphon answers quickly, still bent low in a bow, his hands nearly brushing the floor. “I was fulfilling the prince’s wishes-“

“The-“ the man’s eyes widen and he turns his full attention to Jongdae, who watches him with relative disregard. The treatment this man already displays towards servants and his refusal to address Jongdae directly already show him poorly in Jongdae’s opinion. Clearly realizing who Jongdae is, the man, General Huang turns to Chittaphon once more, though his eyes flicker to remain on Jongdae. “This is Prince Lu’s husband? What are you doing, bringing him down here?”

“I asked,” Jongdae answers smoothly, still watching the General and feeling a faint rush of pride when the General appears clearly shocked at Jongdae speaking his language. “I wanted to see the training grounds and to perhaps spend some time practicing myself. It has been a long journey and I have not been able to train well along the way.”

To say the man looks shocked would be a true discredit to the expression he displays, obviously taken aback and ashamed upon realizing Jongdae had understood him initially, his own assumption a sign of disrespect and poor judgement. The look satisfies Jongdae, if but a little. “Your grace,” General Huang says, bowing curtly, in a manner fitting of a man so steeped in militant formality. “Excuse my rudeness, but-“

“I see no reason to,” Jongdae says, uncaring as the General appears shocked and somewhat offended at the admission. Beside him, Chittaphon slowly backs closer to him, rising slowly from his bow and looking tentatively between Jongdae and General Huang. 

“But,” the General continues, clearly somewhat shaken and taken aback. “I would imagine these grounds to be unfit for your needs. Perhaps a private lesson by one of our masters or indeed a study of theory and practice, the strategy through game and-“

“Are you implying that I am not allowed to train and maintain my combative skills in my own home?” Jongdae asks. If anything, Jongdae had not expected that he would be flat out refused to train at all. In Goyangi, despite hosting enemies and clear threatening kingdoms in the palace compound, there was always the extended understanding that all visiting parties were allowed and welcome to train and practice as was either custom or explorative, as combat was clearly a necessary skill, especially among nobility who had the time and luxury of acquiring formal training and technique.

“I do not want to offer disrespect, but the practice of war seems better suited to a soldier than to a prince,” General Huang says slowly. “I was unaware that your grace would be so interested in making use of our grounds. It is an accommodation that will take time and preparation.”

The reality sets in then that Jongdae is being refused, not only on assumption that he is unfit for combat, but also that his desire to train for war is an imposition for him to do so upon the military and its retainers. “I see,” he says, feeling relatively aghast at this information, though no less frustrated and inconvenienced. 

“Indeed,” General Huang continues, clearly interpreting Jongdae’s comment as acceptance. “After all, it is not a Prince’s place to subject himself to the stresses of war and combat-“

“You will not allow me to train, then,” Jongdae summarizes, sickened by the elaborations and denial. 

“I-“ 

“Has my personal guard arrived?” Jongdae asks, ignoring the now irritated and shocked face of the General. “A woman, Hyejin. She was supposed to have joined in your service and to be given proper accommodation.”

“I believe we received her this afternoon,” General Huang says, still clearly unsettled.

“Excellent,” Jongdae says, and turns too Chittaphon. “I would like you to find her and send her to me,” he tells his servant. He smiles at Chittaphon, hoping to calm some of the apprehension on the young man’s face. “I will be touring the training grounds with General Huang, as it is the least of his concerns to at the _very_ least show me the facilities in which my soldiers and guards train and prepare for battle.”

“With pleasure, your grace,” Chittaphon says, bowing and displaying a furtive and poorly hidden smile as he scurries away before General Huang can stop him. 

The absence of Chittaphon leaves Jongdae with General Huang, who looks entirely aggravated at being so hastily thwarted. “I believe that, if you refuse to consent to my training, you may at least provide me entrance and exposition of the area.”

“With pleasure, your grace,” General Huang finally says, his lip curling with clear effort into a smile. He bows, and precedes Jongdae to open the door for him, gesturing him through politely. 

The door opens into a massive open space, large enough to hold at least a thousand men in full armor. There is a shaded walkway all along the edge of the training grounds and the open space itself is clearly sectioned, a few sparring soldiers practicing in the far right fields. Along the walls is a wide assortment of weapons and tools, most of them affixed to portable racks, easy to access and transport across the training area to where they are needed. At the four corners of the space are entrances, presumably leading to the rest of the palace and some sort of bathing rooms and facilities for the soldiers to store the remainder of their tools and equipment. The opposite wall is host to a large double door, presumably for horses to be admitted as equestrian and cavalry equipment Jongdae recognizes from the battlefield are arranged by the second entrance. 

Overall, the training grounds are far more impressive than Jongdae had expected, and he instantly understands the reasons behind why the Pianjian armies lost and won many of the battles that he had participated, the advantages and disadvantages of the space and obvious training methods confirming ideas that had previously only existed in theory and speculation. 

“Spectacular,” Jongdae finds himself saying as he takes in the grounds. Already, his hands have begun to itch to hold one of the weapons in his hands, the familiar weight a reassurance even if the weapons themselves are foreign. The sun that beats down through the open roof holds little consequence, as Jongdae has suffered through worse conditions than the weather this day, and instead feels the warmth as a welcome addition to the prospect of feeling his muscles and body fall into the familiar and comfortable rhythms of trained combat.

Beside him, General Huang appears to be flattered by the praise, his posture straightening and a fond smile reaching his face as he surveys the training grounds as well. “I am glad they please you,” he says, and looks perhaps a bit less antagonized as he returns his attention to Jongdae. “I do not know much, but I have heard that they are larger and more expansive than those in Goyangy.”

“They are,” Jongdae admits. General Huang looks all the more pleased, his pride swelling out in his chest and his smile broadening in delight at the news. Jongdae watches him carefully, noticing how readily he responds to the praise. “I must admit that I had not anticipated such a facility, and am truly impressed with what you not only have at your disposal, but clearly maintain in excellent condition.” General Huang stills somewhat, a flicker passing over his features as he listens to Jongdae, glancing down furtively at his new prince. “I am all the more disappointed that it is considered inappropriate that I make use of such facilities.”

As Jongdae had suspected, General Huang doesn’t immediately repeat that Jongdae is correct, that he is not permitted or intended to train here, and instead seems to consider Jongdae’s words. “Indeed,” the General says slowly. “I would inquire as to what manner of training you had intended, but I also would be foolish to assume you had truly meant to exercise any method dressed in such fine garments.” He smiles, gesturing to Jongdae’s new formal robes, the long sleeves and floor sweeping lengths clearly ill suited for combat.

He is, of course, correct in assuming that sparring in such attire would be intensely difficult to do, especially if one were intent on maintaining the condition of their clothing. Jongdae smiles up at him, his opinion slowly changing about the man before him as he recognizes how easily he is persuaded with minimal praise and manipulation. “Indeed, I am not dressed for a proper sparring session,” he agrees, gesturing to emphasis the ridiculous length of his sleeve. General Huang nods in ready agreement, letting out a small laugh himself. Bold. “I will ensure that I am appropriately dressed for when I return to make use of the facilities,” Jongdae finishes and smiles pleasantly as General Huang’s laughter chokes off abruptly. 

“Your Grace-“

“Prince Jongdae!” interrupts their conversation, and Jongdae turns, his smile becoming genuine, as Hyejin approaches them from along the side corridor. She looks as impressive as always, two wooden practice swords that are training worn held in her hands. As she nears, her expression is of polite confusion as she looks between Jongdae and General Huang. “I didn’t think I’d see you until later this week. You should be resting after such a long journey. Though, of course,” she laughs, and Chittaphon peeks from behind her to Jongdae, as if questioning if he had completed his task appropriately. Jongdae smiles at him and he blushes lightly. “I can hardly expect you to endure that sort of trip and not become restless at the idea of doing nothing.”

“You know me quite well, I believe,” Jongdae humors her, returning her smile as General Huang looks continuously unsettled. “I do believe I am poorly dressed, however, I do imagine I will manage to still provide a worthy opponent.”

“Your grace,” General Huang begins as Jongdae sets out towards an empty area of the training grounds, Hyejin following him easily. 

“I am sure Chittaphon can procure me a fresh set of robes for when I am finished,” Jongdae calls over his shoulder, tugging up the ridiculous lengths of fabric that hang from his wrists. 

“They’re not going to be too pleased with you making a scene like this your first day in the capital,” Hyejin tells him, humor lacing her voice as she nears him and offers him one of the wooden weapons. Seeing Jongdae struggle slightly with his sleeves, she steps forward to assist him, easily catching the fabric and wrapping it around Jongdae’s forearm, as if binding a wound. It securely fixes the fabric away and, though not entirely comfortable, at least allows Jongdae the free use of his arms. “Aren’t you concerned your husband will object?”

“Oh, I am fairly certain he will object,” Jongdae says, taking significant relish in the thought. “Though currently I see no reason to forego my own health and skills in order to make a man happy who appears determined not to be.”

“Bold words from a bold prince,” Hyejin laughs, stretching hastily as Jongdae tests the weight of the wooden sword in his grip, tossing it between his hands. “Especially one who has not trained in over a month. You realize I’ve been training with the palace guard every day since we left Goyangi. I won’t go easy on you.”

“Do you ever?” Jongdae asks her, settling into a familiar stance as he faces her. Unlike many of the soldiers Jongdae had trained with, who either pushed to beat him or never fought him properly for fear of harming the crown prince, Hyejin has always treated him honestly in combat. Perhaps it is because she is one of the few high ranking officers in the military who is a woman who achieved and retained her position though considerable skill, but she never hesitates to treat Jongdae with the honesty he requests. The same always applies to whenever they spar, and, true to her word, her first attack is as bold and intense as it ever was and immediately puts Jongdae on the defense, trying to keep up with her formidable talent. 

The sleeves wrapped about his forearms are tight, but the tension keeps him aware, his grip strong and focus sharp. The flowing robes about his legs may keep him cooler, but the extra fabric and movement makes it harder to move quickly to match Hyejin’s footwork and avoid attacks, and Jongdae is panting fairly quickly from the exertion of sparring. Over the clacking of their swords, Jongdae blocking mostly as Hyejin leads the match, he can hear General Huang exclaiming something and a few other voices. 

“You’re not paying attention,” Hyejin scolds him, swatting him in the side with her sword and getting a considerable hit. Jongdae gasps at the graze, feeling the sting against his skin. It’s nothing he’s not endured before, and the pain encourages him, reminding him to remain alert and attentive as he recovers and faces her waiting stance once more. 

“Out of practice,” Jongdae pants. The hair that had been piled atop his head has already begun to fall out of its elegant knot, strands and wisps hanging into his face and obscuring his vision. He shakes his head in agitation, frustrated at the style already. They had not been sparring more than a few minutes and already the style proved useless.

“Focus,” Hyejin tells him evenly, her tone soothing and patient. “Remember your form. You can always beat the best adversary if your form is stable.”

“Unless they have a pike,” Jongdae says, and smiles in good humor when Hyejin rolls her eyes. He laughs as he easily doges her new attack, quickly slipping around her form to counter attack under her exposed arm and forcing her to jump back.

“You have always been terrible with pikes,” Hyejin teases him, getting in another hit just as a loud shout breaks over the training grounds. The noise is enough to distract Jongdae and gather his attention, turning towards the entrance as Hyejin hastily fumbles in mid movement to accommodate. At the entrance, General Huang stands to the side while Guanheng waits just inside the door, deep in a bow. Jongdae realizes where he had disappeared to as he watches Han walk furiously towards them, his stance tall and formidable and his steps harsh, his robes whipping about his long legs. 

“What are you _doing_?” Han demands as soon as he is within hearing, his eyes burning as they bore into Jongdae. Hyejin, already having backed away, bows and excuses herself hastily, her eyes lingering on Jongdae. He nods to her, not wishing his husband upon her nor anyone he considers a friend.

While Jongdae knows he should feel otherwise, the expression on his husband’s face brings him tremendous satisfaction. He smiles. “I am training, clearly. Have I offended you by not asking if you prefer to spar with me?”

The question does nothing to quell the anger in Han’s face, in fact clearly does the opposite as his lips thin intensely. “You are to be resting, recovering from our-“

“I have rested,” Jongdae says, voice firm and strong. The sweat that has built against his skin, the energy from sparring even those few moments rekindled in his body and giving him strength and vitality once again. “And I now desire to train as I always have done, to keep my form prepared for-“

“The wars are over!” Han snarls, his voice suddenly pitched low and clearly furious. “The wars are over and we are married and there is no reason for you to go to such efforts!”

The implication astounds Jongdae, and he stares for a long moment at Han’s enraged face, listening to breathing that Han clearly struggles to keep steady. It is incredibly short sighted, and Jongdae cannot help but feel aghast at how remiss Han’s perspective truly is. “In the case that we face foes now, united as we are, I see no reason that I should have neglected my skills and training simply because one war is ended.” The explanation does not appear to appear Han, as he instead lets out a frustrated breath and his jaw tightens. “Unless, perhaps, it is with me specifically choosing to maintain a skill that so-“

“Perhaps,” Han snaps, a defined edge to his voice as he steps closer, standing taller to look down at Jongdae from his slight height advantage. “I am concerned about your wellbeing.”

The comment takes Jongdae entirely by surprise, especially as it is made without any hint of concern. Yet still it hangs, suspended in the air between them as Han bores himself into Jongdae’s space with clear purpose and intent, and Jongdae stares back, shocked and entirely in disbelief. “My wellbeing,” he repeats, wanting to laugh in Han’s face. “I believe I have demonstrated more than enough times that I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself and-“

The reply clearly upsets Han as he steps back, face pinching and he evidently struggles with words. It is entirely strange behavior from the other man, and Jongdae finds himself at a loss for words in determining how to continue. Until this day, Han had appeared cool, composed, removed and distant, emotionally and otherwise. Yet in the span of only a day, perhaps a few hours upon returning to common soil, Han’s behavior has altered dramatically, and yet again catches Jongdae off guard.

“I am not demanding you cease to care for yourself, merely that you consider others concern for you as an expression of caring.” The words come out slowly, carefully, evident that Han is choosing them with intention and consideration. 

Just a few hours ago, Jongdae had been given the distinct impression that the Prince held little sentiment towards him, and thus the comments now are nothing but unexpected. Jongdae, to his own credit, is entirely disinclined to accredit them. “Is this your method of confessing to me that you care for me?” he asks, his voice carefully calm and indifferent, hiding the agitation that blooms through him like blood from a fresh wound. Especially considering the previous instance when Han had appeared shocked that his dislike was evident and had thus apologized, yet shown no true intention of changing his behavior, the sudden shift presently does nothing to console Jongdae’s temper. 

“That is my intent,” Han tells him, voice and posture stiff as he looks at Jongdae, his gaze intense. “And I request that you retire from this practice. Perhaps,” he swallows, and clearly what he is attempting to say causes him stress as he struggles to continue. “Perhaps tomorrow, we may return and I shall arrange exception with General Huang for you to- to perform exercises.”

“I wasn’t aware Princes required the permission of their subjects,” Jongdae needles, frustrated with the supposed obstruction of power and ability that seems to have settled about his person. “Do you have to conference with General Huang in the instance that you wish to train?” At the sudden tight lipped expression on Han’s face, Jongdae knows the truth will do nothing but further confirm Jongdae’s suspicion and grievance. 

“Perhaps,” Han continues, rather than answer. “If you would permit my company, we may train together.”

Exactly what has spurred Han’s new willingness to spend time with him, extending so far as to have him come all the day down to the training grounds to fetch him when he is supposed to be pretending to be gravely ill back in their quarters, Jongdae does not know. He doubts very much that it was their confrontation that occurred earlier, but perhaps some of the message Jongdae had been pressing had been communicated and received. 

“I don’t think that wise,” Jongdae says finally, though he relents and steps towards Han. At Han’s disappointed look, Jongdae continues to explain, “those around us may be concerned for your wellbeing when they see your foreigner husband besting you in combat and come to your rescue.”

“Bold of you to assume you would defeat me,” Han scoffs so readily, so informally, that it shocks Jongdae. His demeanor shifts as he steps closer to walk back to the entrance with Jongdae, as if this conversation and encounter had shifted something between them, resolved some point of argument that now returns them to amicable footing. Feeling the eyes of Hyejin and General Huang and the servants and other soldiers of the grounds upon them, Jongdae does not protest as Han steps closer to him and begins to pick at his sleeves, complaining at their state and pulling the flowing fabric loose once more to flow from Jongdae’s wrists. Satisfied, yet still leaving Jongdae in a state of silent perplexed observation, Han raises his attention to Jongdae’s face.

“Your hair is changed,” he says, reaching up to brush some of the fallen strands away from Jongdae’s face. It is such an intimate gesture that Jongdae must intensely resist pulling away sharply from it. Never, in all of the time they have been together, has Han reached out to him in such a manner. The expression on Han’s face flickers, and he seems to become aware of something about himself as he pulls away once more, his expression withdrawing back to the familiar cool disinterest. “It suits you, while you are here now.”

“I hate it,” Jongdae says, tired of formality and uncaring if it appears rude.

“Yes,” Han says, as the arrive at the walkway and waiting attention of Chittaphon and Guanheng. “I am sorry that you do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10!!! I did not expect to get this far honestly. Thank you so much for reading and there is more to come! I hope you are enjoying what has been posted so far and please stay tuned for the next installment~


	11. Chapter 11

The news of not only Jongdae’s visitation to the training grounds, but also his rumored disregard for the protocol for the Pianjian has spread by the next morning. Two new servants greet Jongdae in the morning as they enter with Guanheng and Chittaphon, and he curiously watches as they make to attend to Han for the mornings preparation. The night before had been relatively quiet, shifu Wang visiting the royal couple to administer their now routine treatment. Jongdae feels nothing from it now, only the rhythm of the process. This morning, Han remains in bed long after Jongdae had risen and set about taking his hair out. 

The night before, despite being advised otherwise, Jongdae had taken the time to once more plait his hair, finding a comfort in the simple process and preferring to sleep with his hair tied away rather than splayed about him. It earns him a disapproving look as Guanheng sees him, quickly averted, and Jongdae resumes slowly taking out the long plait. While his defiance may irritate Guanheng, Chittaphon seems to find it amusing, offering him a small smile as he begins preparing the robes Jongdae is to wear that day. It does not escape Jongdae’s attention that the robes for today are not as extravagant as they were the day before, the sleeves far more manageable and the length suitable for walking and more strenuous exertion. 

“We have to meet with the council this morning,” Han says, breaking the quiet of the morning that Jongdae had become accustomed to.

Turning in surprise at the statement, Jongdae observes his husband. Han is sitting though with his shoulders somewhat hunched, frowning at a note that one of his new attendants clearly brought to him. The expression he wears is darker than Jongdae is accustomed to seeing this early in the day, and he looks at the note as if the prospect of presenting themselves to the council and court troubles him. 

“So soon,” Jongdae replies, wondering why the council would summon them so quickly upon their return. While he knew they would be gathered to attend to matters of state fairly soon, a part of him wonders at the haste of it. As far as had been conveyed prior, the duty of the princes was to focus on their marriage and adapting to the treatments so they may ensure the validity of their alliance as swiftly as possible, meaning their participation in politics and matters of the council would wait until they had completed that immediate responsibility. 

“They appear concerned,” Han elaborates, standing at the request of one of the servants. “They imply that they are concerned about your interests.”

“My interests,” Jongdae repeats, finally finishing with his plait and surrendering his hair to Chittaphon’s skillful fingers.

“I’m sure it is of no consequence,” Han sighs, turning to Jongdae as his servants dress him. His robes today are a pale blue and black, elegant and far more extravagant, much more similar to the robes Jongdae wore the day before. He looks at the attire currently being placed around Jongdae’s figure and assumes a contemplative look, but says nothing more.

“If they are summoning us then I imagine it must be important,” Jongdae suggests, and the conversation fades as Han does not reply. The new servants say very little, and while most of Jongdae’s attention is consumed with Guanheng and Chittaphon’s minimal chatter and administrations, he can’t help but feel as if they are watching him. Whether in curiosity or intrigue or something else, Jongdae cannot determine, only aware that the attention unsettles him.

The feeling does not cease either, present as they are accompanied to the morning meal and all through the palace Jongdae feels as if he is being watched. It is a different sensation than the day before, where the looks on those they had passed had been surprised and confused. Now, it is almost as if the gazes are waiting for him, poised and expectant as they watch him pass and whisper silently judgements and impressions of his person, lingering just beyond his reach of perception. It reminds Jongdae of the atmosphere that he had felt during their traveling, especially among members of the court who all surveyed him with a distrustful sort of complacent smile, acting as if their distrust and dislike was not evident.

If the same atmosphere is effecting Han, he makes no sign of it, though his face is deeper set and more serious as they walk through the palace, and he walks perhaps a bit closer to Jongdae than is usual. The general sentiment is one that is hard to distinguish, especially as, unlike in Binzhe, where the citizens were unabashedly honest and vocal about their dislike and opinions, there is no soft chatter and commentary that Jongdae can attempt to listen to. Instead, it is almost as if all around him exists a silent conversation, spoken between glances and subtle gestures that he cannot decipher or witness swiftly enough.

Though his clothes may have been given some concession today, allowing him more comfort, it is clear that they draw attention, as many eyes linger on his form as he passes among the corridors, most eyes drawn to his sleeves, as if he has failed to perform adequately. In all encounters, whomever they meet among the halls, be if familiar members of court from the journey back from Pyeongyeon or new officials, they all address Han first, and it is only when Han includes him in the conversation that they even appear to consider speaking with him. They do so politely, but it leaves Jongdae feeling significantly excluded and ostracized. 

What is more difficult, is that in the event he attempts to speak, it is received with hesitancy, not grounded in nervousness, but in, what Jongdae can only suspect to be, distain. The constant evaluation and examination makes him feel on edge, tight in his own skin and as if he cannot step without garnering offense. By the time they reach the council room, Jongdae wishes to be anywhere but. The behavior of councils in general tend to be exclusive and self-righteous without interference, and he can only imagine what their behavior may be towards him, especially as he had been summoned for apparent disrespect. 

“Ah,” says one of the council, standing upon their entry to the room and sweeping his arms wide in welcome, a wide smile on his face. He bows to them both, arms still outstretched, and Jongdae watches as the remaining council members all determinately avoid looking at him, their expressions impassive but the placement of their bodies displaying a clear distaste for his behavior. A few of them look at him, their eyes cool and unforgiving. “At last, our princes have arrived.”

“Are you implying that our absence has been preventing the council from operating?” Han asks, his voice equally cool as his eyes, which survey the room in quick course, lingering on some of the council members. “I was under the impression that the council was designed and employed so that, in the frequent absence of the king and princes, the country and courts could run without issue. Or am I mistaking your purpose?”

The language shocks Jongdae, who had rarely experienced the ability to dismiss the council in Goyangi so easily. It was often met with repercussion from his father, and the king was often more than pleased to punish his own son as readily as his enemies, though with perhaps a bit more restraint. The behavior Han so easily displays would have easily landed Jongdae in poor favor and expected punishment.

“Not at all, your grace,” the council member laughs, moving hastily to clear room for the princes among the mats and cushions, the stunning embroidering signifying the class and role of each member. The cushions left and on clear display are two with matching embroidery, a fine deep red border with golden thread and a matching design pattern on a pale blue with the same golden thread. The council member gestures minutely to these, indicating that they are intended for the princes. “We simply anticipated your arrival, and are delighted that we may now proceed to address the matters at hand.”

The red cushion is taken easily by Han, who settles himself first before gesturing for Jongdae to sit beside him. The placement of the cushions fits them close together, the hem of Han’s robes just brushing Jongdae’s as they settle and arrange themselves for the meeting. The council waits until they are seated before bowing in formal conduct and honoring the princes, straightening and turning expectantly to the princes. Han surveys them for a moment before inclining his head somewhat in respect and then turning to Jongdae with an unusually kind smile. “It is my honor to present to the council my husband, who will be sharing the throne with me in honor and representation of our new alliance with Pyeongyeon.”

The statement as well as attention catches Jongdae off guard, as it is truly the first time Han has treated him like this, with respect and what could be considered affection. The shock does not distract him from his own attentiveness, however, and Jongdae bows, a bit farther than Han had, to the council, inclining his head in respect. “It is an honor to join your council. May we live in peace and prosperity in the years to come.” The sudden light touch to his hand has Jongdae straightening a bit swifter than he would have, and he finds himself staring at Han’s fingers, gently laying over the back of his hand in an obvious display of intimacy. 

The gesture obviously gains attention, as one of the council members lets out a soft cough that could have been a laugh. Looking up, Jongdae sees all of the attention of the council is upon him, though some of them glance at their prince with curious and somewhat reprimanding expressions. “It appears out prince is quite smitten,” says the talkative council member, leaning closer to Jongdae with a wide smile. “Would that we are so fortunate to find a match that pleases him so.”

The words leave Jongdae with none, unable to assemble a reply in the confusion and unease that swells within him. It is not only the atmosphere of the council, which is entirely a watchful distrustful expectancy, but rather the new and unfamiliar treatment from Han that has him unable to respond. By all intents and purposes, Han has been acting, at least since they left their quarters, more familiar, and in the last moments, relatively affectionate and warm towards him unlike he has ever done prior. Having experienced him otherwise and grown familiar with what Jongdae understood as the typical behavior and disposition of his husband, this new behavior and attitude unsettles him, unsure what to expect next from the prince. 

“I expect he will soon win over the hearts of the people and court as he has done mine,” Han says idly, as if the remark is not a blatant misrepresentation of any attitudes he has expressed prior. “But, unless I am mistaken, this was not the intention of the council in summoning us this morning.”

The intention, it turns out, was to address Jongdae’s pursuit of the training grounds the day prior. Rather than being outright reprimanded for such behavior, Jongdae is advised with petulant formality that in the future he should consult and arrange for training sessions privately, so as not to disrupt the balance and conduct of the soldiers and their strict regimented proceedings. The conversation, which Jongdae finds himself struggling to follow the quicker remarks and commentary are exchanged through the room and through the varying levels of formality, contains a definite note of criticism, as well as containment, yet with the clear element of observation and speculation about his person. 

Why, it appears is the largest issue, would a prince such as himself have need of training himself in the arts of combat. They all appear to wait for him to react, to say something or do something that would permit them to proceed in a way that is expected of him, yet with no clear delineation about what that may be is ever presented to Jongdae. All the more confusing is Han’s response and behavior, which, unlike the day prior, is supportive and defensive of Jongdae’s wishes.

“I see no reason for my husband to go through such unnecessary measures to simply exercise himself in a manner that pleases him,” he says finally, interrupting the talkative magistrate, a courtier Jongdae had learned was named Cheng. “There is no such resistance and unnecessary proceedings for the hunts or excursions into the forest and surrounding lands in the instance that my father or myself desire to enjoy the natural world.”

“Your grace,” Cheng says, his tone patient and with all the heir of addressing an indisposed child. “Those events and excursions are all prepared for in advance and with many stipulations already in place, designed for your protection and care. These sorts of-“

“Then see to it that such precautions and stipulations are made for the necessary training my husband desires,” Han demands, his eyes sharpening. “There was no such issue when I was given my training for combat.” Jongdae watches him from the corner of his eyes, trying to follow the conversation and curious about the consistent resistance that follows whenever Jongdae’s person is discussed. 

“Your grace, may I remind you that we were at war at the time,” Cheng says, his tone light and almost humorous though his eyes flash. “A fortunate development that such times are no longer with us, and all the more puzzling that Prince Jongdae desires to train despite the necessity for him to return to combat.”

_There._

The attention of the room shifts, all of the council members suddenly examining Jongdae, waiting for him to behave or say or do something that he is unaware he must do. It is unclear whether they want him to act in defiance or acquiesce to their subtly veiled demands that he obey. “Am I correct,” Jongdae begins, aware of the attention he already has and tired of being silent through much of a conversation about him. “In understanding that the primary issue is not whether I am training, but rather where and for what purpose?”

“That is a very simple interpretation of the matter,” another council member replies, the disregard evident in his tone.

“But an accurate interpretation, none the less,” Cheng amends, attempting to smooth over the slight. Beside Jongdae, Han has stiffened, angled himself marginally in Jongdae’s direction. It is, Jongdae realizes with another wave of surprise, protective. “While there are other details pertaining to the issue, that is, more or less, a large element of our concerns.”

“Then may I propose that I train separate from the military complexes and soldiers,” Jongdae says, looking about the council and ensuring that he meets each of their eyes. “As it appears my intention is in question, despite how I chose to symbolize my investment in this alliance by marrying Prince Han-“ again, Han’s hand falls to Jongdae’s laying more firmly over his, fingers curling around Jongdae’s ever so slightly. Jongdae swallows, the gesture filling him with unease rather than comfort. “It is apparent that I am distrusted, despite that I have no intention to cause the prince any harm. We have-“ he swallows again, forcing himself to look at Han and encourage any level of affection to display upon his face. Han meets his face, his fingers tightening around Jongdae’s hand, “-grown especially fond of each other in the time since our formal meeting. To hear that I am suspected of-“

“Of course, of course,” Cheng says, breaking the tension that had strung through the room at Jongdae’s display and allowing for Jongdae to turn away from Han’s gaze. He breathes, feeling somewhat dishonest in his representation, but still familiar with the dynamics of presentation at court and how very necessary it is for himself and the prince to appear to be happily bonded rather than expressing conflict and discontent. “In no way are we suspecting you of such terrible intentions, your grace,” he says, bowing slightly as he apologizes. Around the room, they eyes remain on Jongdae, the same sentiment clearly unexpressed with Cheng. “Perhaps it would be best if you were to conduct your training separately. I will have General Huang notified of this and an appropriate venue and assistant arranged. May we assume that this will follow your consummation?”

The sudden mention of the consummation throws the entire atmosphere of the room. Once more, Han’s fingers clench around Jongdae’s hand, though this time it is clearly not out of support or projected affection. Jongdae feels his husband stiffen beside him, the air of affection that had been adopted dissipating quickly as the room’s atmosphere shifts dramatically and the intensity of interest among the council members rises. This, Jongdae realizes, is what they had truly wanted to discuss with them. 

“The preparations are still being made,” Jongdae answers, not trusting Han and poignantly aware how the silence had begun to stretch. “Alas, Prince Han and I are still recovering from the treatments and thus have yet to be deemed prepared for the final event, so it is with regret that I must inform the council that such matters would be prematurely discussed.” The grip around Jongdae’s hand has grown tighter, almost painful, and as Jongdae sits back from his delivery, he can see Han from the corner of his eye, tense and somewhat paled, the muscle in his jaw taut.

In this moment, unlike many before, Jongdae does not feel frustration and irritation at the display, but rather a faint flicker of amusement. It is reassuring, to some extent, to see that, while his husband may be unable to discuss the matter of their copulation with him, the same inability and lack of tact extends beyond Jongdae. It strikes Jongdae as humorous, the notion that the prince would be so unnerved at the discussion of something as simple as sex with others, as if the topic itself unnerves him. That revelation brings a small level of sympathy, though very small, to Jongdae with regards to Han. Such anxiety cannot be easy to contend with, especially when so much of their present circumstances depend on their ability and success at bedding one another properly.

“I see,” says Cheng, the smile on his face widening, though his voice comes out less pleasantly. The grip on Jongdae’s hand begins to tremor slightly, a sign that Han is either unsettled or his grip is weakening despite his resolve. Carefully, subtly, Jongdae twists his own hand to return the hold. Han’s hand tenses, stills with his whole body, and Jongdae finds a small satisfaction in the reaction as he slips his hand together with his husband’s in a firm and steady grip. 

Whether his intention is to be reassuring or to assert his own role and power within their dynamic, Jongdae is not entirely sure, but the overall result is his own satisfaction at Han’s response. 

“Regardless,” says one of the other council members, drawing Jongdae’s attention to him. “The matter still remains that accommodations must be made for Prince Jongdae’s desire to expend his strength and energy.” The wording has Jongdae biting his tongue, knowing better than to rise to the goading. “I believe we may be able to resolve and arrange for his wishes to be accommodated within a weeks time.”

“A week,” Jongdae cannot help but repeat, entirely unimpressed. “Surely it would not take so long to attend to these matters.”

“Of course, these matters are not the only ones which must be attended to, and, as is customary, the proceedings must travel through the appropriate channels before they may be set in place for his highness.” The finality of the statement from the council member is not directed at Jongdae, but at the entire council and, more significantly, at Han. In the absence of the king, it is apparent that Han is the highest ranking in the room, and that all final procedures must pass through his jurisdiction. 

“Very well,” Han says, and as he speaks he finally pulls his hand out of Jongdae’s, tucking it beneath his robes. It leaves Jongdae’s own palm cool and somewhat empty, and the sensation perplexes him before he pushes it from his mind. “Let us attend to the next matter at hand.”

It was not made clear to Jongdae that they would be spending the entire morning in council meetings, discussing matters ad nauseam with the high ranking officials of whom Jongdae slowly learned the names of. While Jongdae’s inclusion is significant and he is aware that his participation is incredibly relevant, the definite feeling of being excluded through most of the meeting, especially following the discussion of his behaviors, is an unwelcome reality. By the time they agree to pause for a meal, servants arriving to announce that food has been prepared for them and each council member is collected by their retainers, Jongdae has accumulated the very definite sensation that he is being evaluated and observed as if a creature of scientific curiosity, viewed as lesser than those around him despite his rank and marriage to Prince Lu. 

The same feeling that he had earlier, of the council and members of court holding expectations of him to behave and conduct himself in a certain way is ever more present, and yet it is no more clear about what that may be so that Jongdae could comply with the it. It leaves him frustrated, and with the sudden shift in Han’s behavior and attitude around him, Jongdae finds his ability to extend his patience wearing thin. Though prior, Jongdae aspired to have Han grow affectionate and fond around him, the amicable behavior and subtle touches and gestures symbolizing a growing connection between them, the sudden appearance of them today, especially in public, instead has Jongdae wary and distrustful. After prolonged dislike and avoidance, the sudden shift in attitude makes Jongdae view all of Han’s behavior as dishonest, false, and that underlying understanding makes it harder for Jongdae to respond in kind with the responding affection expected of the royal couple. 

“You seem agitated, husband,” Han observes during their meal. They are seated together, a meal laid out for them in one of the palace gardens under a white silk canopy. It’s beautiful, and the heat of the summer is broken by a soft breeze and shade that protects them from the intensity of the day. 

“Perhaps I am tired,” Jongdae lies, struggling to maintain an appetite for his own meal. 

“It takes a special kind of resolution to be able to leave a council meeting without bearing exhaustion,” comes a familiar voice. From along the edge of the gardens, Lady Song strides into their company, her long robes elegant and flowing, her long hair twisted into an elaborate and beautiful hairpiece. She smiles, bowing as she arrives and settles herself briefly to the side of their meal. “My apologies for my absence this morning, I had business to attend to in my own court.”

“You’re a member of the council,” Jongdae says, surprised that he had been unaware of this detail until now.

“When she is available,” Han explains, though his disposition has shadowed somewhat since her arrival. “And when the council has need of her services.”

“Often I am preoccupied with more important matters than discussing abstract notions of policies and protocol with a group of entitled men,” Lady Song sighs, throwing a grin in Jongdae’s direction. “I rarely find I have the patience to sit with them for prolonged periods of time. Their method of accomplishing matters is far too tedious for me. I am, you see, more of a woman of action than latent pandering of protocol.”

“Which is precisely why we rarely expect you to grace us with your presence,” Han says, the distrust in his voice evident as he observes Lady Song.

“And yet you were at the council this morning,” Lady Song says, reaching forward and selecting a morsel for herself, one of the small cakes laid out among the spread. “That is surprising. I feel your presence is often more rare than my own.”

“Bold, considering you are rarely there to pass such blatant judgement,” Han replies cooly, but the remark had earned Jongdae’s attention. Why had they been at the meeting if Han was not accustomed to participating? Furthermore, it would explain as to why the attention had been so intensely and uncomfortably placed upon them the entire morning. Honestly, the notion that a prince or king would not participate in his own council meetings appears unusual to Jongdae, as that had been the custom in Goyangi, but perhaps it is different here, among other things as Jongdae is gradually learning. 

“But this is boring conversation for such a delightful meal and a beautiful day,” Lady Song sighs, turning too Jongdae. “I heard you quite offended General Huang the day prior by training without his consent.”

“You make it sound as if my husband attacked the man,” Han mutters before taking a sip of his tea. 

Jongdae finds himself smiling. Despite still being unsure of her intentions, Jongdae finds himself liking Lady Song, and especially the way she needles Han with such ease and familiarity. There is something about her that appears to bring out both honesty and genuine response from the Prince, and, even if Jongdae has grown less than fond of his husband, seeing this side of him feels comfortable in that at least this small display of him is real unlike so much of what Jongdae experiences.

“I believe I did,” Jongdae tells Lady Song, watching as her smile widens in delight. “I have been without training for so long and, finally with our travels over, I saw no reason to remain idle. Apparently I was wrong.”

“The next time you wish to train and fluster some of the generals, please tell me,” Lady Song encourages him. “I’m aways in need of a show, and watching the generals be humbled is by far my favorite entertainment.” She laughs, and Jongdae finds himself smiling. 

It is not long after her arrival that Lady Song departs, bidding them both farewell and informing Han that she will be present at the afternoon council meeting. It is implied that Han should and will be there, and Jongdae finds himself reluctant to subject himself to more of the same from that morning. 

“You do not have to accompany me,” Han tells him abruptly as the servants clear away their meal. He stands, waiting for Jongdae to rise as well, before he begins on a light walk around the garden along the wooden raised path, clearly intending Jongdae to join him. Jongdae does, though with a small amount of trepidation about what kind of behavior will follow from Han. 

“Is this a polite way of telling me you do not want my company,” Jongdae asks quietly, leaning closer to appear intimate to any observing and keeping his voice too low to be overheard. Han does not pull away from him, though his expression does fall somewhat and he looks almost disappointed. 

“I did not say that,” Han corrects, and when Jongdae pulls back, he steps closer, maintaining their proximity. It feels somewhat invasive, and Jongdae resists the urge to pull away. “I merely assumed that this morning had been tedious. I know it must be difficult for you to follow the conversation, and much of what is to be discussed this afternoon is dry in nature and I believe would disinterest you.”

“Are you suggesting I do not have interest in the operation of our kingdom?” Jongdae asks dryly, meeting Han’s gaze as they walk together slowly along the path. 

The statement has its intended effect, as Han’s eyes widen slightly and he appears taken aback at the remark. “No- not at all,” Han fumbles, and the flash of irritation that passes over his face confirms Jongdae’s suspicion that he is, once more, putting on airs to maintain appearances. His posture had been stiff since they left the council chambers and his hands had remained folded together, ensuring they would not be in danger of touching. The distance is intentional, as is the feigned intimacy. “I was only concerned for your own wellbeing and happiness.”

“I am sure that my wellbeing and happiness are what occupy much of your thoughts,” Jongdae sarcastically remarks, allowing himself a self satisfied smirk as Han tenses beside him. The lie exposed and raw between them, Jongdae feels a faint sense of comfort that whatever his experience may be, at least his reality is valid and evidenced by Han’s inability to properly disguise his reactions. “None the less, I will accept the offer to excuse myself from this afternoon’s meetings,” he continues, looking out at the gardens. They are, indeed, stunning. Lush green and flowers arranged in aesthetic rises and falls, a softly running stream echoing the sound of flowing water even when it is invisible to the eye soothing to the senses. “Perhaps I will find General Huang once more, see how his opinion of myself has evolved since our last meeting.”

“Please don’t,” Han says, a vague note of suffering in his voice that unexpectedly makes Jongdae laugh. 

“As you wish, my prince,” Jongdae finds himself teasing. Han doesn’t smile, but neither does he frown, and the indifference is at least tolerable for Jongdae to accept and be satisfied with.  


. . . 

  
The afternoon cools somewhat as clouds begin to roll in from the West. The air becomes heavy with the approach of the rains and with that weight comes the stick to the skin and the restlessness from a gathering storm. All through the palace, the servants appear apprehensive, poised for action to rush about and begin shutting windows and gathering materials to keep them from the impending downpour, and the tension that begins to skitter through the palace compound reverberates into the residents.

After the council meetings resumed, Jongdae was left to wander the palace corridors, taking some time to himself to explore as Chittaphon and Guanheng trailed after him quietly. At the decision that he would explore the compound, they had agreed to remain as companions only, assisting him if called upon but otherwise silent as he explored and navigated under his own willpower and direction. It is not long, therefore, before Jongdae finds himself in areas of the palace that he knows are not intended for him, where he is unexpected and unwelcome. Truthfully, there are few places in the palace where Jongdae feels welcome, and the truth intention behind his search was to perhaps discover at least one space where he may be at peace and find respite, a sanctuary of sorts to allow himself peace and recovery from the constant onslaught to his person of judgement and speculation.

Once, Jongdae had felt the constant criticism of his own court, the members watching him with the taste of dislike and disrespect, the rumor of his origins and heritage haunting his every step. Yet even in Goyangi, there were spaces where Jongdae was given sanctuary, respite, and welcomed. He found common ground and acceptance through merit in the training grounds, the soldiers valuing him for his combative skill and determination rather than his blood right. They valued him as their prince as he proved himself worthy of their allegiance. Among the servants, Jongdae held a place of respect, often displaying his understanding of their work and his lack of dependence on their services; among them, his ability to take care of himself and survive was seen as an admirable trait. It had not been until Jongdae had joined the court of Pianjian and become Prince Lu’s husband that all of his prior qualities which offered him respect and respite do not correlate here.

In Pianjian, his self sufficiency is a dishonorable trait, and he is held under constant scrutiny not only for being unaware of their customs and cultures, but also for being a foreign prince that had, to some whispers, stolen their prince for his own corruption. Though the rumors and whispers are never voiced to him, they clearly follow him, unhidden as it is clear he is not expected to have mastered their native language yet. And while it is true that Jongdae’s understanding of the Pianjian tongue and dialect is still rudimentary at best, he is not fool enough to mistake when insults are thrown at him. Unlike in Goyangi, Jongdae finds himself unsure if his addressing of the insults to have significant effect. Especially as, in so far, servants appear to have the authority to remind him of protocol and educate him if he is otherwise unaware, the admonishment and reminder of his authority as prince feels out of reach for Jongdae as he experiences the intense gaze from all around him. 

There is little escape, and even with the silent companionship from Chittaphon and Guanheng, Jongdae feels less served than he does watched and controlled. It brings the same itch under his skin as he had the day before, and, though he knows it unwise, he finds himself winding through corridors and halls in pursuit of the path they had taken the previous day. Finally happening upon it, Jongdae tries to remember the direction they had gone to get to the training grounds. As they travel, Guanheng appears to realize his intention and hurries to intercept him with a formal bow. 

“Your grace, I do not believe it wise to return to the training grounds today,” he says, appearing somewhat flustered and faintly scared. The fear piques Jongdae’s desire to return to the grounds.

“You do not have to accompany me,” he tells the servant flatly. “I can manage with only Chittaphon accompanying me. It seems unfair that you would suffer punishment due to my direction.” This seems to take Guanheng by surprise, though he appears no less concerned. Yet he still consents and dismisses himself, exchanging a glance and a few foreign words with Chittaphon before he departs. Turning to his remaining servant, Jongdae offers a small smile. “You may also leave if this makes you uncomfortable or concerned at reprimand on my behalf.”

“If it please, your grace, I would prefer to remain in your company,” Chittaphon says, and, unlike Guanheng, appears completely at ease with the prospect of potentially displaying disobedience. In fact, the prospect appears to entice him. Jongdae decides as they continue along the halls that he likes Chittaphon, at least more than Guanheng and far more than Fei or Jia. Arriving at the training grounds, Jongdae waits at the entrance and instead sends Chittaphon to search for Hyejin for him, utilizing the time while he waits for quiet contemplation over the events of that morning. 

“Prince Jongdae,” surprises him from his thoughts and he turns, taking in the familiar form of the Pianjian soldier who approaches. Chittaphon looks slightly nervous as he trails behind Yukhei, but the look on Yukhei’s face as he approaches is one of concerned confusion, sweeping up and down Jongdae’s figure and around him. “Is there something you require assistance with? This servant said you were looking for Hyejin.”

“I was,” Jongdae admits, though now that Yukhei is here… “Is she unavailable?”

“She left this morning on a patrol with a small escort,” Yukhei explains, though he looks no less concerned. “Jihye accompanied her, though neither of them explained much about their intentions or when they would return.”

“I see,” Jongdae says. While he does find it odd that both of his companions from Pyeongyeon had left without informing him of their departure, Jongdae has also been made aware this day of how perhaps the steps of protocol and procedure may have prevented the direct passage of such a message. Regardless, with Yukhei here, Jongdae at least has an opportunity to seize. “That is most unfortunate, but perhaps you may assist me in her absence.”

“Anything, your grace,” Yukhei replies, looking incredibly willing. In that moment, Jongdae realizes that perhaps he had been mistaken in his earlier thoughts, that perhaps he had mistaken the few companions and friends he had made while traveling as untrustworthy. The gentle and genuine honesty and heart of Yukhei shines through him, his eyes so expressive Jongdae believes they could never lie even upon pain of death. 

“I require someone to spar with,” Jongdae explains, stepping towards the guard with a smile. “Perhaps you would oblige me. Though I believe that the usage of the training grounds is unwise, considering my previous utility of the space resulted in a bit of a commotion. I imagine you may know of alternative locations and conditions we may take advantage of?”

“Pardon, your grace,” Yukhei says, and his voice has grown hesitant, his excellent military posture faltering somewhat as his surety wavers. He is uncomfortable, Jongdae notices, with the clear proposal to disobey what he knows is against the projected protocol. However, as Jongdae watches, he is conflicted, wanting to oblige and obey Jongdae with respect to his status and also because he, for lack of better assumption, likes Jongdae and wishes to help him. “But I am not sure that would be advisable. I am, that is to say, I don’t believe I could train with you.”

“Then guard me while I train,” Jongdae suggests, stepping closer. “I am perfectly capable of training by myself, and in the case that we are found, I will explain to them that you are acting under my orders. If it ruins my reputation to say I threatened you, well, I believe my reputation already suffers. What harm can a small amount of suffering do to an already poor reputation.”

It is clear that Jongdae’s remark rings true, and that Yukhei knows it. It is also clear that Yukhei understands the veiled humor and determination in Jongdae’s proposal, and his inability to hide a faint smile and the eagerness shining in his voice that he wants to help Jongdae. “While I am not sure that is advisable, your grace, I would not want to refuse you only to have you determined and therefore putting yourself in danger.”

“I am glad we understand one another,” Jongdae says, smiling at the young guard. “And we shall have Chittaphon here as witness in the case that we are brought to accusations.” The servant startles at being mentioned, but bows and nods quickly none the less.

“Of course, your grace.”

It is clear from Yukhei’s body language as he leads them through and around the training complex that he does not want to be seen or stopped. When they encounter others, he straightens, perfectly regulated in his posture and gait, leading Jongdae and Chittaphon through the area, and when the witness is gone from sight, his pace hastens and he appears far more intently alert. Finally, he leads them to a small enclosed courtyard. There are no weapons along the walls and the earth is a fine sand, unexpected to Jongdae’s conditioned training methods. 

“This is General Huang’s section,” Yukhei explains, stepping off to the side and retrieving two quarterstaffs that he holds with reverence and clear admiration. “He is, aside from being one of our more experienced generals, the leader of the hand-to-hand combat section.” He smiles, clearly impressed with his general and admiring of him. “They say he trained at a temple for twenty years before agreeing to join the royal army, and that when he fights it is as if he is possessed by a demon god of power and strength.”

“You speak as if you believe that,” Jongdae laughs, beginning to pull out his hair. The previous day had taught him that the beautiful hairstyles of Pianjian are aesthetic, but entirely useless when applied to combat. The action clearly intrigues Yukhei, and from the side of the courtyard he can hear Chittaphon let out a soft disappointed sigh as his hard work is destroyed and Jongdae hastily plaits his hair instead.

“I’ve fought with him,” Yukhei says, standing just a bit taller, clearly proud. “He trained me, and I can confirm that his skill is all that the rumors portray. No one can beat him. He knows the human body’s weaknesses and will strike without hesitation to defeat his foes.”

“What a ruthless man,” Jongdae chuckles. Yukhei’s face flushes, but he says nothing more on the matter, simply waiting for Jongdae to finish preparing before offering the quarterstaff. Jongdae eyes it carefully, still smiling as he observes Yukhei. “Are you consenting to spar with me? Despite the dangers of engaging with your prince?”

“If it is deemed unacceptable, Chittaphon can simply tell the council that you forced me,” Yukhei says, though his voice wavers with nervousness at his teasing remark. Yet it makes Jongdae laugh, gladly accepting the quarterstaff from the guard and testing the familiar weight in his hands. It feel wonderful to once more wield something more than only his wit and tongue, to feel substance in his hands. Giving the quarterstaff a few spins and turns, wielding the weapon and warming up the muscles in his body as well as feeling how the garments that adorn him respond and move with his actions, Jongdae feels some of the accumulated tension drifting out of him. 

It may not be the same for others, but to Jongdae, the motions of training, sparring, and fighting had always felt more or less like a dance. The placement of feet in response to his opponent, the action and reaction between their bodies and the necessity to read and anticipate how one may move or strike in battle requiring all of his attention and energy. Needless to say, Jongdae had never been prized for his dancing, mostly because the thrill of it was lost when he knew there was another arena where such patterns and intimacy was far more relevant. This is not to say that the threat and terror in battle excited him, but the informality of training in a small courtyard such as this brought him satisfaction that could not be recreated anywhere else for him. 

Letting out a long breath and returning to starting position, Jongdae looks at Yukhei and feels himself center as his weight distributes and he returns to a state of balance. As the quarterstaff is his weakest weapon, Jongdae imagines it will not take long before Yukhei bests him, but that does not mean he will allow himself to be defeated by any means. Watching Yukhei shift into starting stance, the both lower to bow and then turn to face one another, staffs raised in high guard before Yukhei swiftly advances to strike from above, Jongdae stepping back and quickly blocking the attack, swinging back as Yukhei shifts to aim a jab at his face. 

Indeed, Yukhei is far more skilled at the quarterstaff than Jongdae, but it is also clear as they progress further into the sparring that he is holding back, matching Jongdae’s skill and testing his ability when and where he sees it appropriate. To his credit, Jongdae keeps pace with him, though feeling the fatigue and loss of his strength and skill from having gone such a prolonged period without training during their traveling days. It frustrates him, but in a different way than everything seems to frustrate him lately, instead providing fuel for his determination and desire to continue despite the ache that builds in his muscles and the sweat that begins to bead against his skin. 

The first win is taken by Yukhei, landing a hit to Jongdae’s side before he swiftly drops into a low bow, prostrate on the sands and with his quarterstaff dropped thoughtlessly. “My apologize, your grace!” he calls out immediately, even as the skin still stings on Jongdae’s side and he pants from exertion.

“It’s a bruise, it will heal,” Jongdae says, uncaring of the injury and more concerned with the hit he had failed the block. “Rise. I am not defeated yet.” Yukhei looks up, curious and with a faint wonder as if Jongdae’s dismissal was entirely unexpected. “Unless you are tired and wish to stop?”

“No, your grace,” Yukhei replies, standing with considerable curiosity and no small level of coy smile. “I had simply thought perhaps you would desire a respite. You appear to have become slightly winded.”

Jongdae scoffs, and wastes no time in leaping into the next spar as Yukhei lets out a burst of laughter that quickly gets swallowed in the clatter and snap of their colliding weapons. The air cools around them, though Jongdae does not notice, as his own pulse pounds and beats heat through him the longer they train. It delights him, the energy that rises back within him, filling inside his chest and bursting along his limbs in power and strength, the drive to defeat Yukhei and land a hit pushing him on despite the slowly building ache. When the rain begins to fall, he doesn’t notice, the moisture simply adding to the sweat upon his face and weighing his clothes. They work far better than the robes he had worn the day before, though they are still cumbersome enough to limit his movements. Rather than irritating, they provide further challenge, and Jongdae finds himself inspired to learn how to maneuver himself skillfully despite the restrictive garments. 

When Yukhei wins the second fight, Jongdae becomes aware of the light rain that had begun to fall about them, his heaving breath fogging before him and his clothing sticking to his skin cold rather than hot from his own exertion. Yukhei’s hair is stuck to his face, having fallen out of his tightly bound topknot and Jongdae imagines his state must look similar disheveled. This time, Yukhei had landed a blow to his shoulder, and does not drop to the ground with the hit, instead stepping back hastily and pulling away his quarterstaff. The hit hurts more than the strike to Jongdae’s side, and Jongdae knows a bruise will form, perhaps uglier than the one that will adorn his side. It has been a long time since he has sported bruises from training, and while a part of him is disappointed in his own lack of skill to prevent them, they are still marks of pride for him, painful reminders of the hard work that led to their creation and the many bruises he prevented from falling. 

There had been times when after training Jongdae would be nothing but bruises, the dark purple and red marks scattered all over his limbs and up and down his front, the most painful ones often against his jaw and cheekbones. Bruises heal, and Jongdae finds them a healthy reminder that all things improve with time. 

A soft call from the edge of the courtyard calls their attention and Jongdae turns just as Yukhei drops to the ground, once more in prostration. Standing with Chittaphon are Guanheng and Han, staring out at them. Feeling his stomach drop at the arrival of his husband, Jongdae hesitates to move, hardly anxious to listen to another admonishment from the other man about his unseemly behavior and disposition. Beside Han, Guanheng hangs his head, looking intentionally away from Han as he holds a parasol over the Prince, sheltering him from the rain. Yet when Jongdae looks to Han’s face, he sees no reproach in his eyes, instead a subtle soft interest as Han lifts his hand to beckon for him. 

Turning to Yukhei, Jongdae realizes the guard is still prostrate on the ground, and feels a tension rise in his throat. “Please, stop,” he says, realizing that the action is just as much out of fear as respect. “You have done no wrong, and I will ensure the prince is made aware of that.” Yukhei pushes up just enough to peer at Jongdae, the worry in his face painfully stark. “Thank you for your assistance. Let me speak with him, and know that you are under my protection, whatever that is worth.”

“It is worth something to me,” Yukhei says quietly, though remains seated on the ground, formally humble as Jongdae steps away towards Han and whatever admonishment may await him.

“I did not expect you,” Jongdae admits, stepping under the awning that surrounds the courtyard and looking at Han. “I had imagined the meetings with the council would take all afternoon and sought to occupy myself.”

“By disobeying,” Han says, though his voice sounds amused rather than disapproving. It is unsettling, how Han had clearly been furious at the exact same disobedience just the previous day and today it appears to delight him to witness. “I assume you persuaded this guard to cooperate with you. I don’t see you as the type to threaten others to do your bidding.”

“Have I impressed upon you that such is my manner?” Jongdae asks, taking a moment to wipe some of the water from his face. He is aware his state must be in disarray, self conscious of his appearance for the first time before the prince. All other times he has been presentable, well dressed and assembled. In a brief moment, Jongdae thinks that he would never care what his appearance may be if he had met Han on the battlefield or in any other setting, as such matters are inconsequential in the grand scheme of life, and feels a brief moment of self loathing that he may be so concerned with it now. 

“Not at all,” Han says, appearing amused. “I admit I have never seen you move like that.” The way he says it indicates an almost reverence, as if Han is praising Jongdae rather than making subtle commentary before- “Your skill is impressive, especially when paired in contrast with such a highly trained soldier.”

It is a compliment. It is also the first compliment Jongdae believes he has ever properly received from Han in any manifestation, either genuine or projecting sincerity while hiding distain. It is hard to decipher in which manner this compliment is given, but regardless, Han has just blatantly complimented him without the same effort of stifled discontent he usually carries about him. It is unsettling and Jongdae finds himself wanting to step back from Han as he receives it.

“I am sure you display similar skill in combat,” Jongdae weakly replies, not meaning it and instead speaking what is easiest; a returned compliment to nullify the context. “In the event that you partake in training or, indeed, combat.”

“Perhaps you may find out in the case that we train together,” Han says, a note of hesitancy laced with surety in his tone as he watches Jongdae. His eyes are not cool, instead a brightness about them that looks almost fierce, making Jongdae all the more wary. “In the future if such a thing appeals.”

“That’s assuming there is trust that I won’t attempt to seize the opportunity to harm you,” Jongdae replies, the whispers and implications that lace the palace walls and certainly have passed before the prince rising to the surface of his skin like thorns. 

“I don’t believe you to be so underhanded as to attack me under false pretense,” Han says, his lip curling somewhat. It feels like a challenge, and Jongdae, already unsettled, finds himself glancing at Yukhei, still prostrate as the rain continues to fall into him, and notices the expression on the other man’s face. It is not an expression that Jongdae has seen on his features, but is thankful in this moment that the guard has such poor control of his expressions that they are so easily read in moments when Jongdae himself feels lost and confused at the situation.

Yukhei looks apprehensive, as if Han’s behavior and the situation have put him thoroughly at disease, nervous and agitated as he looks at Jongdae and Han’s interaction. Catching Jongdae’s gaze, he quickly looks down, clearly realizing his own open expression has betrayed something to Jongdae, though precisely what, Jongdae still does not understand. 

“But regardless,” Han says, drawing Jongdae’s attention back to him. Jongdae flinches when Han reaches towards him, then stills when he sees Han’s fingers twitch before reaching to brush away a few stray strands of hair that have fallen into Jongdae’s face. There are none here to impress, to convince of intimacy, and yet Han’s disposition and actions indicates affection and familiarity. Jongdae feels his heart still beating rapidly in his chest, and his anxiety rises as he realizes it is not residual from the training but rather from a response to the current events. “You have become wet and cold from the rain. Would it not be best to retire for the day? I have yet to take my own respite and bathe.”

The absence of Han’s cruel and selfish behavior is a welcome respite, but the sudden shift in behavior has Jongdae anxious, apprehensive of yet another shift in his personality and perplexed at what may have spurred this behavior into existence. There is significant doubt that their talk yesterday inspired such a dramatic shift, and Jongdae pulls away from Han’s touch, wetting dry lips and struggling to keep his breathing clam. “I am not yet tired,” he says, even as he feels the fatigue spreading through his tense muscles and the bruises begin to ache resolutely. 

“The rain has only just begun to fall,” Han tells him, as his hand drops away from Jongdae. “I fear it will only worsen. It is not a suitable day to train, do you not agree, guard?” 

“Your grace, such is the truth,” Yukhei calls out, his voice tight and strained, his face bowed to the ground and his shoulders rigid. The rain has picked up, drenching his clothing and uniform, his hair hanging into his face where it has fallen.

“With such weather, it would be most regrettable if you were to fall ill, your grace,” Guanheng softly interjects, stepping forward and offering Jongdae a shall. 

“Indeed,” Han says, snatching the shawl before Jongdae can either accept or reject it. Before Jongdae can object or indeed compose himself to respond, Han has swept around him and wrapped the shawl around his shoulders, his hands lingering on Jongdae’s arms as he leans in. “After all, you are in my care, as I vowed the day we bound ourselves to each other.”

The statement does not reassure Jongdae, as instead it further instills apprehension in his chest, unsure if the comment was made in threat or… something else. The apprehension begins to gnaw through him, digging itself into his chest as he feels Han begin to guide him, with the company of Guanheng and Chittaphon, from the courtyard. There are no members of court here, yet Jongdae feels unable to protest, to speak out and reject the unfamiliar gentleness and soft gestures from Han. 

Looking back into the courtyard, Yukhei is still posed on the ground, the rain drenching his respectful figure as he watches them leave, the look of trepidation splattered across his features sending a sharp chill through Jongdae’s body, making him shiver. The grip of Han’s hands against his arms tightens and he pulls Jongdae closer to him. “Indeed, clean clothing and a warm bath,” Han says softly, his breath ghosting over Jongdae’s shoulder as he walks close to Jongdae, intimate and possessive. 

Trapped.

The rain rhythmically falls all around then, cascading the world into a soft grey as servants and aids scurry about to bring things into shelter. The water flows and rushes through Jongdae’s ears, and he feels trapped, locked in a riddle with no hints and little suggestion of an answer.

The rain falls, and just as a flicker of fear passes through Jongdae’s chest, a flash of lightning rips through the sky, followed by a tremendous roll of thunder. It startles them all, Han’s grip on his arms tightening suddenly and pulling him closer, breaths shuttering against Jongdae’s ear as he leans too close. Fear. Jongdae hears it, feels it, and in that soft pause after the thunder rolls into the distance, his own fear is carried away with it. 

There is no time for fear, and Jongdae has no space for it. Not anymore.


	12. Chapter 12

The rain has not stopped by the following morning, casting a dark atmosphere around the palace as it wakes, the servants moving quietly and quickly to their positions to avoid the rain. It has Jongdae waking later than usual and, with surprise, observing shifu Wang already present in their room with their usual servants. He is in quiet discussion with the servants, looking between the two princes as if in concentrated concern.

“How are you feeling?” further surprises Jongdae, and he turns to look at Han as the other man examines him.

“Excuse me?”

“Yesterday,” Han says, still looking on the edge of sleep as he observes Jongdae. “I thought perhaps the rain and cold might have affected you.”

On the contrary, Jongdae finds himself in good health, where Han is instead the one who looks rather taxed and who had been posturing as ill as of late. “I am fine,” Jongdae answers, his attention mostly captured by shifu Wang as the physician watches them carefully. “Are you well yourself?”

“I am-“ Han begins, before he seems to notice their company and his composure darkens. 

“I hope I might bring some light to that,” shifu Wang says, sweeping forward gracefully with a light smile. “It has been brought to my attention that the crown prince has been experiencing extended suffering from your treatments.” Without ceremony, he reaches for Han, examining him with long, thin fingers that carefully turn and examine Han’s face, and body. “This is indeed worrisome.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Jongdae says. While Han is examined by shifu Wang, the servants rouse and dress Jongdae, his robes once more the high elegance that had adorned him the day prior. The bindings and ties are left a bit looser than they had been the first time Jongdae wore them, and Chittaphon quietly explains that he, too, will require examination from shifu Wang before they may attend to the days schedule. The mention of a schedule interests Jongdae, though further explanation is not presented, Chittaphon instead quieting and proceeding to attend to his hair. This morning, he is allowed to let it remain somewhat loose, and though the style is more relaxed, it does have Jongdae resigning that he will not be training that day, especially at the prospect of a ‘schedule.’

When shifu Wang finishes with Han, he steps back with respect and a bow before proceeding to examine Jongdae. It is a swift experience, and he only takes a few moments before he is apparently satisfied with Jongdae’s condition. “You are lucky,” he tells Jongdae as he waits for Han to complete dressing. “You already had a strong constitution, and your body is well adapted.”

“That is indeed fortunate,” Jongdae agrees, not entirely sure how else to respond to the remark. Regardless, shifu Wang smiles at him, clearly pleased. 

They stand in silence together, watching and waiting for Han to complete his dressing, the physician appearing satisfied with the quiet as he waits to deliver his verdict. Han that day is dressed similarly to Jongdae, though his hair is piled up in a top knot and pulled away from his face. Finally, when the servants retreat and complete their work, Shifu Wang bows to them both with a smile, his attention focused mostly on Han.

“I am sure it will please you both to hear that the treatments appear to be in effect,” the physician says, his smile still wide. “Neither of you appear to have resisted their effects, and you both display the strength and that the cycling has begun which will favor your marriage.” 

The news surprises Jongdae somewhat, and apparently must hav a similar effect for Han, as his face darkens and sours. “You mean to say we are both well and fit to consummate our marriage,” he surmises.

“Indeed,” shifu Wang says, nodding to him graciously. “I was disheartened to hear that the crown prince was feeling ill, but after prior inspection and todays examination, I can confirm that it was mostly a psychological side effect from his own, well, perhaps nervousness over the whole affair.”

_So he was exaggerating his symptoms_ , Jongdae gleans from the information, watching his husband across the room as Han’s complexion further darkens. “That is indeed good news,” he replies, making sure to smile himself at the physician.

“With this evidence, I believe it appropriate for you both to begin preparations to begin bedding-“ across the room, Han visibly stiffens, “- and I will ensure that all accommodations are also made and prepared for you, including a strengthening tonic I will personally administer before each session.” Despite how clinical the explanation is, Jongdae finds himself feeling oddly indifferent towards the obvious discussion of himself and Han finally having sex. After all, it was well made obvious that a significant element of their marriage was that they prove able to provide an heir, which would bind the contract between their kingdoms officially, through law and blood. “I will once more examine you both before tonight’s treatment, but assume that proceedings may begin within the next few days.”

“Thank you for your services, shifu Wang,” Jongdae says, nodding to the physician who bows deeply, clearly pleased with both himself and the response. “Your assistance is more appreciated.”

“I am always pleased to be of service,” shifu Wang says, turning to bow with a wide smile at Han.

To his credit, even before shifu Wang has left the room, Han looks ready to exit the room promptly following him, his countenance bordering on anger, if not outright fury at the verdict of that morning. His sharp eyes follow the physician as he leaves, his mouth a thin line and his form rigid. Even the servants appear to be stepping away from him, the energy rolling from him suggesting his mood to be in terrible temperament. “I suppose that allows us to proceed without the same level of exhausting posturing,” Jongdae says, snapping Han’s foul attention to himself. It doesn’t bother him as much as it had done in the past, and primarily Jongdae assumes this is due to the fact that he now has confirmation that Han’s disposition was, probably, mostly created as a method to avoid their required intimacy. Yet the farce is over, and if the physician has declared them physically fit and well enough to continue, then Han cannot run from either his duty nor Jongdae any longer.

Though Jongdae doesn’t entirely enjoy the prospect of lying with a man who appears to be protesting simply out of his own selfish desires and dislike of being pushed towards anything which he may not be particularly inclined, his tolerance for Han’s behavior has reached a new low.

“Your grace,” Guanheng says, stepping towards Jongdae with a bow. “It has been arranged that you will be studying for the day-“ he falters as Han suddenly surges into motion, striding from the room and exiting without a word. Jongdae ignores his antics, letting his husband have a tantrum if it pleases him. 

“Please, continue,” Jongdae urges Guanheng. The servant looks nervous, his attention flickering to the door, before he appears to compose himself.

“It was brought to the attention of the council that you desired to learn the native language, and that the skill you have is still developing.”

“I see,” Jongdae replies, feeling at least some level of relief that he will be given something to do during the day other than lay about and seek to entertain himself. “Yes, that would be favorable.” At the smile Jongdae offers him, Guanheng appears suddenly relieved, and for the first time since Jongdae had been introduced to Guanheng, he offers him a smile that seems genuine and perhaps a somewhat grateful.  


. . . 

  
The tutor that Jongdae is given is a formidable scholar, a few years older than Jongdae himself, but clearly with a significant talent for languages. Master Wu is striking in features, and not slightly intimidating when he greets Jongdae upon his arrival, settling easily to the royal quarters and spreading out a variety of tools with him, books, papers, ink, and brushes. Nor is Master Wu a forgiving teacher as Lady Song, Hyejin, and Yukhei had been, instead pressing Jongdae to correct his mistakes and unafraid to correct him without relenting. It is exhausting, and Jongdae finds himself desperate for the afternoon break and a respite when Master Wu finally announces they will be taking a break for the day. The rain has thankfully stopped during the lessons, but the following heat and strength of the sun are not entirely a welcome respite after the heavy downpour.

The heat of the day rises high and brutal outside, making the fatigue Jongdae already holds from the intensity of the mornings lessons weigh heavier on his shoulders as he leaves the room. Yet the air and the light breeze are tempting, his stiff limbs and body yearning for a respite and he finds himself meandering, Guanheng trailing behind him, in the direction of the gardens. Rather than bother himself with concern about the absence of his other servant, Jongdae instead attempts for some small conversation with Guanheng, practicing some of the new language he had learned that day. Though hesitant at first, Guanheng begins to chat with him quietly, answering small questions and supplying vocabulary that Jongdae lacks about simple things. Flower names, colors, aromas, and small terms that had, until this moment, been inconsequential, test themselves upon Jongdae’s lips as Guanheng supplies them, his stiff composure slowly melting away as they meander slowly through the palace compound towards the large interior gardens. 

The gardens that day are beautiful, the lush green and shade providing a significant relief from the heat of the wooden floors of the palace which seemed to heat through Jongdae’s shoes. Quietly, Jongdae bids that Gaunheng arrange that he be served his lunch in the gardens. In the case that Han is found while Guanheng is making his request, Jongdae makes sure to imply that Han is welcome to join him, but the likelihood that Han will join him remains low in Jongdae’s mind. Though his behavior may have changed in the last few days, confusing and far less hostile than Jongdae had become accustomed to gradually as Han’s disposition towards him, the events of this morning are sure to have spurred a return of Han’s prior behavior.

Finally in solitude, Jongdae allows himself to walk slowly about the gardens, taking his time and allowing some of the stress and fatigue from his lessons all morning to seep out of him and into the natural world that had been brought here to create such a sanctuary. As far as he has experienced, these gardens are most likely Jongdae’s favorite place in the palace thus far, the peace and tranquility offering a well desired respite from all the rest of the palace. There is freedom in nature that Jongdae always felt resonant with. Allowing the soft sound of the stream he knows runs through the gardens, Jongdae wanders through the paths and plants, the water a cool temptation and relief from the heat of the day. 

Rounding the path, Jongdae knows he is near to the stream, the water glistening in the sun as it runs along, heedless of its surroundings, and Jongdae stills, halted in his path. Standing by the edge of the stream, Han looks out at the water with a contemplative expression. He’s let his hair half down, the front still pulled back into a loose knot, but the rest is allowed down his shoulders and back, his hands folded into his robes as he looks out over the gardens. Though his disposition seems to have improved since that morning, his company is still not something Jongdae is sure he wants to endure, especially if Han does, as Jongdae suspects, find himself once more in a disagreeable state around any reminders of their marriage and its expectations. Turning quickly, Jongdae makes to leave the area, perhaps to another section of the garden where he can continue in quiet solitude until Han leaves, when he hears his husband call out for him.

Pausing, and turning, Jongdae glances back at Han, half expectant to see his countenance darkened once more in a frown. Instead, surprisingly, Han’s expression is open, calm and almost welcoming, though he looks perhaps a little startled to see Jongdae hastening from him. Without asking or explanation, Han approaches him, quickly making his way to Jongdae’s side, appearing to be in an agreeable mood.

“I didn’t expect to find you here,” Jongdae admits, looking over the gardens and avoiding Han’s gaze. Though Jongdae isn’t, by any means, adverse to Han’s company, he isn’t inclined to spending time with a man who finds his person disagreeable or who is unhappy to be with him. Though Han appears to have changed attitudes somewhat, Jongdae still has little faith that such behavior will remain consistent. 

“I actually came here in hopes to find you,” Han replies, and the comment surprises Jongdae enough to turn to him. The smile on Han’s face appears genuine, though Jongdae remains skeptical, not trusting Han after his behavior this morning. “I encountered Guanheng on my way here, and I hoped we could enjoy lunch together. I am sure you can imagine my pleasure at learning you held similar intentions.”

“I must admit, I cannot,” Jongdae replies, not bothering to hide his relative skepticism at Han’s words. At Han’s somewhat surprised expression, he continues, “you’ll forgive me, but this morning, it appeared-“

“You misunderstand,” Han interrupts, and reaches to take Jongdae’s arm. He falters when Jongdae pulls away instinctively. They are not in public attention, and Jongdae, unlike the day before, is more aware and less shaken by his behavioral changes. Han appears disappointed, but continues none the less, beginning to walk closely with Jongdae, which Jongdae will consent too, at the very least. At least Han appears to be somewhat ashamed, if his tone of voice is any evidence, and his disposition overall appears to be appealing to Jongdae’s favor. It’s still strange, and Jongdae has grown tired of the consistently changing attitudes from his husband, but relents to give his attention to his husband regardless.

“Please, enlighten me,” Jongdae urges when Han grows silent. 

For a long moment, they walk in silence, Han appearing to gather his thoughts and plan his words carefully. “I believe that I have not been appropriate towards you,” Han begins, and then holds up a hand when he seems to sense Jongdae wanted to comment on that. “Please, let me continue.” It is a rare moment in which Han says ‘please’ as Jongdae, until this day, has never truly heard him say it. “I want to explain myself, and also to apologize for my behavior.” Jongdae waits, and when Han appears to understand that he is not going to interrupt him and will listen quietly, he relaxes somewhat, stopping and turning to face Jongdae. “Since our first meeting, indeed, even before that, I was admittedly somewhat displeased at our arrangement. I have come from a life where I was allowed to make my own choices, and when the choice of our union was presented to me and implied as my required duty and responsibility, I accepted it with belief and acknowledgement that it is what is best for the kingdom and my people. However-“ he lets out a sigh, and when he meets Jongdae’s eyes, there is what appears to be sincerity in his words. “As our time together extended, so did the realization upon myself that I had no true freedom of choice, and it was the denial of my own selfish desires that led to my frustration.”

“I began to, as you fell victim to, express my own dissatisfaction with what has been asked of me and, though somewhat unintentionally, making you the target of my displeasure. I realize that my behavior has not gone unnoticed.”

“I noticed,” Jongdae tells him flatly, in so far unimpressed with Han’s confession. None of this information is new to Jongdae, and, in fact, he finds Han falling in less favor with him the longer he speaks. “You are not, even if you imagine yourself to be so, subtle with your sentiments. 

“Again, a fault of my own,” Han quickly accepts, which further has Jongdae quieting, at least allowing him to finish and granting him his audience. “You were right, earlier, when you suggested I was exaggerating my symptoms as a way to avoid you, and I used my own anger and frustration as a way to drive you away. I imagine part of my behavior was to push you to reject me yourself, proving my own assumptions and beliefs and wanting to make the problem lie outside of my own selfishness. However-“ he pauses, taking a deep breath and looking out over the garden, a soft hint of sadness and regret gracing his features. “I ended up gravely mistreating you, targeting you for my anger and irritation, despite how of all those who are to blame for our predicament, you are the least of all at fault.”

“An honest conclusion,” Jongdae allows. There is vindication in what Han is saying, finally confirming what Jongdae had suspected, though it doesn’t reassure him that Han will change his behavior. An apology is only as valuable as it is acted upon, and from Han’s prior behavior, there is little to suggest that his attitudes will alter after this confession.

“What I am saying, perhaps poorly, is that I have been unfair to you, when really it has come to my attention that of all the people I could have been arranged to marry, I have been fortunate that it is you.” 

Jongdae blinks, watching as Han appears to brace himself before finally returning to look at Jongdae, an element of supplication evident in his gaze. “Forgive me for asking, but was that a genuine compliment?”

“It was intended as one,” Han says, and appears perhaps nervous that it will be rejected. In all respects, Jongdae has been treated to such an extent that he is well grounded to refuse the apology and compliment, especially with the level of fickle dependence on disposition Han demonstrates. 

Yet, despite everything, and as Jongdae reflects on the last few days, where Han has been evidently attempting to alter his behavior, although shakily, he finds himself allowing his husband a very slight smile. “It was very poor, but at least recognizable. As does the apology, as I am sure what you are saying was intended as an apology-“

“It was,” Han says quickly, as if nervous Jongdae will distrust him. 

Again, Jongdae finds himself smiling, even allowing for Han to step closer to him and settle near to him. “It does not resolve or amend the harms you have inflicted,” Jongdae reminds him firmly, and watches Han carefully. “But, at least it is a beginning for whatever recompense we may seek together and proceed with. Though I trust that you will strive to amend your prior behavior, as in the future I may not be as forgiving.”

“I will,” Han says, and lets out a sigh he had evidently been holding, the tension in his shoulders finally releasing. The relaxing seems to extend to the air about them, and Jongdae finds himself feeling calmer, more at ease, and it is a welcome shift. “I may not be able to change over night, and I will ask for your patience, which I know I have not truly earned, but I hope one day I might.” Though Jongdae does not comment, he does not resist when Han reaches out tentatively and brushes their hands together, softly twining their fingers together. It is a silent request and, if Jongdae is optimistic, a promise for the future. 

Hopefully a promise that will not be broken.  


. . . 

  
True to his words, Han’s behavior improves over the remainder of the day, his efforts to engage and instigate pleasant conversation evident and his attempt to not only respond to Jongdae’s company but initiate aspects of intimacy, regardless of how minimal, are noticeable. It carries into the night, so that when shifu Wang presents them with their typical treatment and a supplementary vial of what he refers to as a performance enhancing elixir, Han accepts the medicines without question and, upon preparing to retire, bids Jongdae a pleasant sleep.

The following morning, Han’s behavior is slow to continue, though the reasoning for this could be subject to Han’s inability to properly rouse himself with ease in the mornings. Regardless, it does surprise Jongdae to wake and find that Han has not only taken advantage of the size of their sleeping arrangements, but had, at some point in the night, moved to embrace him. Waking is not entirely pleasant, considering the day began already in high temperatures, and Han’s body heat and weight pressed against Jongdae’s side have him waking in relative fitfulness and confusion before he realizes what the case for his discomfort is. The servants make no comment of their position as they arrive, though Jongdae finds himself feeling oddly embarrassed to be found in such a state. It is immediately something he feels foolish for, and silently reprimands himself for, considering that in the following days, according to instruction from the council and shifu Wang, their state of being will be significantly compromised from their efforts to consummate their marriage. 

If this prospect bothers him, it does not appear to bother the servants, and Chittaphon appears somewhat relieved upon seeing them, Guanheng clearly relaxed as well and going as far as to smile welcomingly at Jongdae when they pull him from the bed linens. As they pull out the garments for Jongdae, today a long flowing robe that appears delicate and which will make Jongdae feel relatively ornamental, they are interrupted by the somewhat sleep-ragged voice of the prince.

“This afternoon,” he says, gathering all the attention of the room. He is still abed, his hair loose and falling about his shoulders as he looks at Jongdae with clear determination. “I would be very pleased if you would allow me to train with you.”

Confused, and somewhat wary, Jongdae pauses in pulling out his hair from the plait he had arranged it in the night before. “I had thought that my training was disapproved of and that my doing so was considered defiance,” he begins. It had not been forgotten that his presence was clearly not welcome in the training grounds, and the council members he had encountered the previous afternoon following his engagement with Han in the gardens had expressed such sentiments. “Besides,” he continues, his eyes flickering to the servants in the room. “I was under the impression that it may not be entirely safe, especially as there is some rumor that my intentions towards you may be harmful.”

The comment appears to surprise Han, and his expression shifts to irritation and then swiftly to amusement. “Well then,” he says, pushing himself from the bed and sweeping over to where Guanheng stands holding Jongdae’s robes at the ready. Pulling the garment from the servant’s grasp, Han puts the clothing carelessly to the side. “I suppose it would be in my best interest to learn your combat style and therefore how best I ought to prepare myself, in case such an event should arise.” The glint in his eyes is strange, almost as if he is goading Jongdae, the corner of his mouth pulling in a teasing smirk. He reaches out, his fingers catching at a loose lock of hair that hangs over Jongdae’s shoulder and brushing it out slowly, his sharp eyes studying Jongdae’s expression almost eagerly. “Dress him in appropriate clothing for us to train later,” Han commands Guanheng, finally pulling away and letting Jongdae’s hair fall from his fingers.

“An odd statement,” Jongdae says, watching Han carefully as Guanheng hastens to procure the appropriate garments indicated. “Considering such an assumption would put you in danger-“ Han turns away from him and indicates to his servants to continue with their task of dressing and preparing him, “-or assume that I intend you harm.”

“I don’t believe you intend me harm,” Han tells him, though his eyes retain that same glint in them, a challenge of sorts, as if goading Jongdae to prove him wrong. “I do believe that gossip ought best to be ignored, though. The opinions of servants should not matter to you.” The corner of his mouth twitches into a true smirk, and Jongdae finds himself bristling lightly at the implication. “I will make the necessary arrangements,” he continues. “I imagine it would be a pleasant change of pace after your morning lessons with Master Wu.”

Indeed, Jongdae finds himself distracted somewhat during his morning lessons, earning him small admonishments from the scholar as he makes careless mistakes. The lesson is made more tolerable though with the less ornate garments Guanheng had dressed him in. Furthermore, Chittaphon seemed to understand and attempt to incorporate Jongdae’s preference for plaits into his styling that morning, weaving Jongdae’s hair into a more secure style which allows him more fluid motion and activity, a freedom which Jongdae finds himself tremendously grateful for. He says as much as Chittaphon escorts him to the gardens for the afternoon meal, a setting which seems to quickly have been identified as the preferred local for himself and Han to take their mid day meals. At the praise, Chittaphon smiles in clear pleasure at having his work and attention acknowledged, telling Jongdae that he is glad his efforts are appreciated and that he only wanted to respect Jongdae’s aesthetic preferences.

The meal is light, Han already waiting for him when Jongdae arrives and dressed suitably. His attire is more similar to what Jongdae had seen of the guards and the brief glimpse of the soldiers training on the training fields. The sleeves are fitted, the top of the robe draped tight across the chest rather than fastened down the front into a low flowing garment and tucked into a high waisted skirt. The skirt is longer than some of the ones Jongdae had worn for battle, but still short enough that it allows for free movement, and fastened with a wide belt that secures it in place. It is almost identical to the one that had been provided for Jongdae, though is a dark and light gray rather than Jongdae’s light and dark blue. Regardless, Jongdae finds himself admiring Han in the attire, as it is actually more flattering for him than the typical robes he wears which always appear to be constricting him in the layer of fabric. 

“You look well,” Jongdae comments as he settles in for the meal, easily arranging himself on the now familiar cushions. 

“As do you,” Han greets him. “I trust your lessons were successful.”

“I am sure the success of my lessons will be primarily evident in my display language proficiency,” Jongdae tells him, trying his best to speak as fluently as he can in Han’s own tongue. Han offers him an approving smile.

They are escorted to the training fields by Chittaphon and Guanheng, and Jongdae is mildly surprised to find that they are led once more to the more private courtyard where Jongdae had previously trained. The courtyard is warm, almost too hot, as the sun beats down on the enclosed space with little to no breeze. It will make for a strenuous training session, regardless of how intense the actual sparring results in being. Waiting for them there are Yukhei and General Huang, both of who are clearly expecting them. “I thought it would be good to have some supervision and assistance,” Han explains, striding forward onto the manicured court and inclining his head towards the General. “I assume you do not mind.”

The expression on General Huang’s face indicates that he may not approve of this endeavor, but is consenting none the less to his prince, while Yukhei looks perhaps a bit more apprehensive. He smiles at Jongdae though when their eyes meet, and appears to relax marginally. Without much prelude, Han strides about the grounds, taking survey of the area and procuring from the side of the courtyard a pair of training swords, bringing them forward and offering one to Jongdae. Though he does so with a smile, Jongdae still finds himself relatively hesitant in accepting the proffered weapon. 

“Nervous?” Han asks him, that glint from the morning once more in his eyes. 

“I am not,” Jongdae answers, because he isn’t. Rather he is curious at Han’s behavior and intentions and therefore hesitant at proceeding to follow into such endeavors blindly, despite how he would very much like to let go of some of the tension that had built in him from this mornings stressful lessons by training in familiar exercises. “I have spent much of my time training and preparing for combat. I remember hearing that I was in battle much more than you and have seen significantly more-“ he swings the sword, easily testing the weight, balance, and how it fits into his hand, acclimating to the weapon, “-skilled opponents.”

Before Han can reply, the flash in his eyes indicating his own eagerness to reply to that comment with more than simply words, Yukhei speaks from the side, his voice laced with apprehension. “Your grace,” he says, and Han turns to him, a clear scowl of disapproval on his face at being interrupted. Yukhei quails under the look but persists. “I only am concerned for your wellbeing. Is it a wise decision to train and strain yourselves while in your condition?”

“Condition?” Han asks, his voice laced with scathing. “What condition may that be? Are you implying that I am-“

“I believe Yukhei is only referring to our intended coupling,” Jongdae interrupts before Han gets worked up. In that brief moment, Jongdae realizes what the flashing in Han’s eyes had been. Though it is certainly a new development, the sudden exposure that Han is no longer censoring his emotions, instead letting them bleed through his composition, dawns on Jongdae. It is fascinating to witness how easily he is truly influenced by his emotions, acting and reacting to all of the comments and external stimulation that he may infer as insulting or challenging to his person and authority. 

“Of course, your grace, that is what I meant,” Yukhei explains, bowing low to the Prince and glancing at Jongdae in clear gratitude. 

“I am perfectly fit, and well enough to spar with my husband before fulfilling my other duties to him,” Han says, his voice proud and expression superior as he looks down at the soldier. The line of his shoulders once more stiffens, and Jongdae watches him carefully, noticing how, despite his handling of his own practice sword for as long as Jongdae has his, Han has yet to show his own acclimation to the weapon. In face, despite his posturing, Han appears slightly uneasy, unprepared even in the courtyard, his grip on his weapon unsure and too tight rather than loose and relaxed as it should be.

Raising his eyes to take in Han’s expression once more, Jongdae wonders at the reasoning behind their presence here at all. Curious, he takes a few experimental swings with his sword, watching Han all the while carefully. “I will admit that I have been curious if your intentions to engage with me out here is less about your investment in partaking with my own interests, or,” Jongdae watches Han’s eyes as they follow his movements, “are you simply here to vent your own frustrations at me through combat.”

The comment does what Jongdae intended, the line of tension tightening across Han’s shoulders as he mimics Jongdae’s motions and tests the weight and swing of his sword, perhaps with a bit more viciousness, in response. “I had thought it to be a beneficial exercise for both of us,” he says, walking to take up a stance opposite Jongdae. To the side, General Huang stands to the side, watching them both carefully, Yukhei taking up position opposite him and poised to intervene if necessary. Jongdae evens his breathing, steading himself and telling his body tense in readiness. “A way for us to express and clear out frustrations at the relative events and circumstances.” His eyes flash, and the anger, frustration, and repressed emotions that had been admitted the day prior as well as their poorly directed output at him suddenly surges to the forefront of Han’s expression. “Besides,” Han’s lip curls, though more teasing than cruel, telling Jongdae of the goading that is to follow before Han speaks. “As the council has insisted that we are to bed each other with relative haste, I imagine it best become familiar with one another’s bodies and movements as soon as possible, and this is as good a start as any.”

The information that the council has decided they must bed as well as shifu Wang’s assessment is new to Jongdae, but he doesn’t react, instead watching as Han settles into ready position and waiting, wanting Han to make the first move to evaluate him and gauge how best to react and incapacitate him. The sun is hot against Jongdae’s clothing, sweat beginning to bead at the back of his neck. It will be something to keep in mind as he spars, and he makes a small note to consider how it will effect him and, more importantly, Han. 

“And the time we spent together for the past weeks in bed and in otherwise presented contexts for intimate embrace have no relevance to this suggested intimacy we are currently instigating in fighting?” Jongdae asks, watching as the comment clearly does as Jongdae intended and irks Han, goading him. Jongdae smiles, settling into his stance with comfort and familiarity. “You’d rather our intimacy be more intense? I was unaware that you preferred a combative and intense embrace, that certainly changes my perspective.” 

“Your grace,” interrupts General Huang as Han’s expression twists into something relatively unrecognizable, but which is absolutely in defiant response to Jongdae’s comment. The crown prince relatively whirls on the General, a veritable snarl on his features. To his tremendous credit, General Huang appears relatively unfazed by the behavior, as he continues calmly, “perhaps today is not the best day for this activity? The conditions are already unfavorable and the extreme heat may-“

“I am unaffected by such simple things,” Han snaps, clearly determined to continue. Jongdae, watching the line of his body tense, is ready when Han rounds on him and attacks, his sword sweeping roughly from the side to strike. Han lets out a soft frustrated grunt when Jongdae blocks him easily, stepping back on solid footing to counter attack and strike up under Han’s arm, knocking him back with a sharp hit before stepping forward, ducking low, and sweeping Han’s unsteady legs out from under him. Standing gracefully, Jongdae looks down at Han’s deposited form, the frustrated expression on his face and the fierce flashing in his eyes that indicates his hurt pride at being defeated so easily. 

“Clearly,” Jongdae says, making no move to assist Han in standing once more. He half expects Han to stop the sparring, to storm out of the courtyard with an excuse or a demand, but Han surprises him by scraping back to his feet swiftly and returning to a ready stance, eyes fierce but with a hunger in them that is new. It is, surprisingly, invigorating for Jongdae to see him this eager to be beaten down once more. “You are unaffected.” This time Jongdae strikes first, and smirks when he finds that Han, despite his ready stance, was unprepared, his footing still unstable and it takes only a swift feint by Jongdae before Han is staggering in his balance and Jongdae can easily kick his legs out from under him. 

Han crashes down again with a poorly repressed yelp, landing particularly hard on the ground and in a satisfying poor display. Still standing and barely having exerted his own efforts, Jongdae finds himself smiling, filled with vigor and a sort of intense cruel pleasure in seeing him so easily knocked down and forced out of his own position of self important posturing. “Indeed,” he says, watching as Han turns to look up at him, eyes squinting in the sun and frustration shining on his face. It brings a swift swell of satisfaction through Jongdae’s chest. “You may have been right, as this does indeed seem to help me with some of the recent frustrations.”

Letting out a snarl, Han makes to swing for Jongdae’s legs, but it’s sloppy and Jongdae avoids the attack with ease. Stepping back and out of range, Jongdae watches as Han struggles back to his feet. It is a bit satisfying to see Han, who commonly carries himself with an air of importance and superiority, so easily bested in combat, especially considering his initial posturing at being equal if not superior to Jongdae in his combative skills. Yet Jongdae finds himself relenting somewhat, curious if Han’s poor skills are indeed real or if perhaps Han is refraining from properly sparring with him for other unknown reasons. 

The expression on Han’s face indicates that, while the sparring may be aiding in lessening Jongdae’s frustrations, it is doing nothing to qualm Han’s, and that in and of itself is enough for Jongdae to offer some concession towards his own easy deflections. “Shall we begin?” Jongdae offers, returning to ready position and facing Han’s still somewhat unsteady posture. Once more, Han attacks first, and Jongdae blocks him easily, though refrains from knocking Han down again. Instead, he makes a simple side block and watches carefully as Han reacts to block him, shuffling back from Jongdae’s subtle advance before attacking again. They continue for a while, Jongdae watching as Han moves in predictable flow, his moves exaggerated and strenuous, clearly unpracticed and unrefined from lack of practice and dedication, but it confirms Jongdae’s initial suspicions about Han’s fighting style and form.

Ultimately, Han’s skills are poor, though the cause is partially caused by his unrefined and poor practice of the art. In large part, Jongdae watches as Han fights not from skill and training, but from his own emotional and physical response to the attacks and sparring, each of his successful blocks clearly bringing him satisfaction where as each defeated advancement has him frustrated, flustered, and sloppy in trying to gain an upper hand. It is clear that the amount of energy he is exerting is far more than is necessary, and in large part this is due to his own overcompensation with emotion rather than skill or control. After enough time, Jongdae realizes the sparring is relatively fruitless to him and exhausting for Han, as the prince has begun to display the signs of overexertion and his frustration has begun to crest. It takes one properly conducted blow to Han’s shoulder, which is poorly blocked and still hits with relative force and Jongdae swinging close, startling Han by the proximity as he hooks his foot around Han’s ankle and wrenches it out from under him, to have Han crashing to the ground once more in obvious defeat.

“Enough!” yells from General Huang as Han lets out a furious yell, his practice sword falling from his grip. Jongdae turns to the general, feeling his blood pumping healthily through him and warm from the sparring, ready for more and somewhat eager for a more suitable opponent. The General looks displeased, his attention flickering between Jongdae and Han, his hand at the sword at his waist as he looks at the defeated prince. When he looks at Jongdae, his eyes are hard, cold, and threatening. “You will cease disrespecting and abusing our prince or I will stop you myself.”

The threat is obvious, and somewhat shocking as Jongdae stares at the General, genuine disbelief and indignation rising high in him and spurring a flare of anger. Before he can respond, his anger and disbelief at the comments implications beginning to burn through him, Han snarls from the ground at the General. “You will do _no_ such thing,” he commands the general, rising to his feet swiftly and glaring. “I asked my husband to spar with me and you will _not_ intervene unless I express for you to do so.” The comment surprises Jongdae, though Han looks disinclined for argument or discussion on the matter as he turns to Jongdae, his eyes burning in clear frustration and determination. “No weapons,” he growls, voice edged. 

Curious, and still not expecting much, Jongdae nods, consenting to the change of parameters. Rather than casting aside his weapon as Han had, he beckons to Yukhei to take his weapon for him. Accepting the practice sword, Yukhei looks nervously between the two of them, his eyes lingering on Jongdae before he swiftly returns to the side, keeping guard and attention. Taking up stance, hands raised and settling his weight evening over his feet, and angling himself slightly to the side, Jongdae watches as Han settles into a similar stance, though his position is different, indicating another style than the one Jongdae is familiar with. Regardless, this time, Jongdae makes the first attack, stepping forward quickly and watching Han’s feet to see if he responds appropriately. 

Much of combat, Jongdae had learned back in his early days of training with Junmyeon, is similar to a rapid conversation, though with much higher stakes. A significant amount of the moves, attacks, blocks, parries, deflections, and feints, are all interwoven into a larger context of body positions, follow throughs, preparations and compensations, all which can be read, felt, or heard in the subtle shifts of breath from an opponent that weave in a much larger tapestry of conversation. If one part of the conversation falters, it falls out of rhythm, and unless noticed, can easily be covered by a recovery. Yet a skilled fighter will make the recovery seamlessly, disguising the flaws with swift compensatory moves and attacks or quick hits to divert attention and redirect the flow.

It is impossible to have a strong attacking form without a solid base, and it is impossible to block well if there is nothing to support the movement. That much was the first thing Jongdae learned, bruised black and purple from being knocked down so many times because his stance was too weak, his footwork was unsteady, or his feet were in the wrong place. No matter how hard he hit, if his feet weren’t in the right place, it wasn’t a good hit. Watching Han as Jongdae goes through the basics, he realizes how significant his early training had been for his own skills and feels almost pitying seeing that Han lacks even the basic strengths in his own stance. His footwork is poor, which means a significant amount of his hits, blocks, and strikes lack the proper power to really have any impact when Jongdae receives them.

Glancing to the side, Jongdae catches the expression on General Huang’s face, and realizes a significant part of Han’s problem is not his own lack of determination, but rather the reluctance of others to press and train him without concession. General Huang watches his prince with a sort of subtle guilt, clearly recognizing his poor form and Jongdae realizes the cause. His title as Crown Prince has clearly lent to him never properly being told how he lacks form or strength, where his opponents most likely never let him lose on principal to ensure-

“Ha!” Han yells just as he manages to get in a proper hit, seizing the opportunity presented by Jongdae’s distraction. It catches Jongdae off guard, the strike higher than is conventional and catching him under the ear, right at the corner of his jaw. Taking advantage of his surprise, Han kicks out and manages to catch Jongdae by the shin, unsteadying his footing and making him stumble back. Han’s eyes flash in victory, and Jongdae looks up at him with a familiar flash of irritation at his own lack of vigilance. On reflex, mostly from so many long days of training and responding to his own mistake-caused faults, Jongdae sweeps out hastily, ducking and spinning out of range of any upper attacks and easily knocks Han’s legs out from under him, crashing him to the ground again. 

Rising to stand once more, Jongdae easily steps aside when Han strikes out, a snarl on his face, and tries to sweep Jongdae’s legs out from under him as well. “Don’t let a single victory distract you,” he says, feeling Junmyeon’s own words flow through him as they had been beaten into him at least a hundred times over. As Han struggles back to his feet again, Jongdae steps back, watching his husband and seeing the clear lines of fatigue and frustration show along his face and weigh along his body. Seeing his condition has Jongdae becoming away of the sweat that has beaded along his own skin, the breaths that are faster in his lungs and the heat that has begun to build between his skin and his clothes, trapped and straining his already exercised body. “Would you like to take a respite?” he asks, even as Han takes up stance against him.

“No,” Han’s stubborn defiance shows in his face as well as his voice, his eyes flashing still despite the lines of sweat that have run down his face, sticking the fly away hairs that have dropped from his top knot to his skin.

Still, his condition has Jongdae hesitant to resume sparring, especially if it is putting so much strain on his body which, until recently, had been in less favorable condition than Jongdae’s. “Perhaps we can compromise,” Jongdae suggests, watching as Han tenses but appears to listen to him. “I’d like to enlist the assistance of our companions,” he gestures to General Huang and Yukhei. “I believe I’d like to take a break personally and I have, as of yet, had no time to learn or entertain General Huang’s talents.”

At the suggestion, both Yukhei and General Huang appear immediately hesitant, Yukhei stepping back slightly and General Huang stiffening, his hold on his sword flexing. He stills under Jongdae’s watchful look however, and looks to Han, waiting for his reply. 

“Fine,” Han says, straightening and loosening out of his stance. “I suppose I can afford you a respite.” The way he says it, as if he’s allowing Jongdae a break from a stressful situation and doing him a favor, has Jongdae nearly going back on his own intentions and knocking him down again without preamble.

However, knowing that such behavior would be extremely poor and ultimately suggest more about his own petty disposition, he instead nods and allows Han the brief posturing to protect his own presumably fragile and bruised ego. As Han retreats to begin his own sparring with Yukhei, Jongdae turns to wait for General Huang to approach him, taking in the tall and clearly combat worn man and his form. “At your leisure,” he says, settling into stance easily and breathing out slowly. After a brief and solemn process where General Huang removes his weapons and takes up his own stance against Jongdae, there is only a moment where Jongdae can observe his form, strong, powerful, steady, and clearly the superior form that Han had displayed, before he attacks. It’s fast, much faster than Jongdae expected, the strikes from his hands followed by rapid footwork that Jongdae struggles to follow and keep up with. 

It takes only a moment before Jongdae’s block isn’t fast enough and he’s knocked back, his attempt to step out of a sweep proving ineffective as Huang compensates by kicking out with his other leg instead, rapidly compensating for Jongdae’s reflex and kicking his back supporting leg out from under him. Crashing to the ground, Jongdae finds himself in awe of how effective and efficient the style is when employed properly. The air had been pushed from his lungs, his ears ringing slightly and pulse pounding as he had tried to keep up with the superior fighting skills of General Huang. With a wince, he looks up at the General, and is surprised to find a hand proffered to him by a placid looking Huang.

“I must admit, I am impressed by your skills,” Jongdae says, gladly accepting the hand and letting Huang pull him up with ease. He’s strong, as Jongdae had expected, and handles Jongdae’s extra weight as if it were nothing more than a bag of rice. It is no wonder he’d been promoted to General with his strength and skill. “I knew you must be formidable but I was not entire sure what to expect after seeing what I assume is your preferred combative form displayed by my husband.”

At the remark, General Huang’s complexion darkens, and he looks, again, slightly guilty as his attention flits to Han, currently sparring with Yukhei diligently. “The prince has,” he begins slowly, then pausing to settle into stance against Jongdae. His eyes sweep up and down Jongdae briefly, as if determining how he should approach the next attack. “He has not always taken priority in his combative training, instead preferring to focus his attention elsewhere.” 

Suspicions confirmed, Jongdae nods, letting himself attack this time and, unsurprisingly, finding that Huang has adapted his technique and speed to match Jongdae’s rather than operate on reflex. The reduced pace allows Jongdae to adapt, following the movements and learning where and how his strikes and hits operate. They are faster than what Jongdae is used to, the force in their tight and rapid delivery and manipulation of Jongdae’s down technique against himself. The way Jongdae had learned to fight was focused mostly on power, his lower stance being where his energy was grounded, leading to powerful and strong kicks and legwork where as Huang’s style is about manipulating the flow of his opponent, flowing around Jongdae’s movements and snapping them, blocks hitting gently where Jongdae knows that, had this been genuine combat, his bones would have been broken easily. 

It’s a very effective style, and one that Jongdae is eager to learn from Huang if the opportunity is approved. Even if it isn’t immediately approved of, Jongdae considers finding a way to learn it regardless, fascinated by the skill, technique, and utility such a style of combat offers. The next move that Jongdae fails to block and which clips his in the side doesn’t result him in crashing to the ground, instead Huang swiftly stepping back, clearly recognizing his own victory in the maneuver and Jongdae steps back as well, nodding in appreciation. 

“You fight well,” Huang tells him, and clearly is at least somewhat impressed with Jongdae, despite having to obviously modify his own tactics to keep from beating Jongdae so easily.

“You don’t need to flatter me, I am more than aware that your skill far surpasses my own,” Jongdae says, his breath short and evident in his breathless words. He is tired, his body fatigued from the sparring and having to keep up with the Generals formidable skill and the unfamiliar style. Instead, he offers Huang a smile, hoping it conveys his own sincere admiration of the General’s skill, and relaxes his stance, bowing slightly in return to Huang’s low and respectful bow to indicate the end of the match. 

“I have had the position of training my body and mind in the art of combat for the majority of my life,” Huang continues, and at first Jongdae thinks he is appealing to the comment, but realizing upon examination that he is, in fact, expressing himself. “I have had little to no other responsibility than training myself for the purpose of protecting my kingdom and its people. The same is not true for yourself, who has had to spend considerable time attending to far more pressing matters than your own technique and form in combat.” The comment is, rather than to simplify Jongdae’s own lack of attention to his own skills, instead a clearly phased compliment, and it surprises Jongdae to realize the General is, in fact, praising him for possessing such considerable combative skills despite having so many other responsibilities. 

To accept the comment feels somewhat prideful to Jongdae, and yet to reject it would be rude and dismissive, so Jongdae inclines his head in respect and offers the General a genuine smile in appreciation of his attention. “Thank you,” he says, his eyes flickering to where Han is still sparring with Yukhei. “It is not often that I am given concession for lacking in equal skills as those specialized around me.”

“Perhaps their perspective was flawed,” Huang says, and, once again, surprises Jongdae. Not sure how to reply to the comment, Jongdae contents himself with observing Han’s form with Yukhei, once more noticing where he is weak and flawed. Like with Jongdae, he appears to be working primarily through his own emotionally driven attacks and blocks, his basic form requiring attention and yet ignored in the context of combat. Some of the basics are present, the footing, the stance, the basic form of the strikes, blocks, kicks, and extensions, but overall, they are in desperate need of refinement. Despite the state of his lack of proper training and practice, Han fights and spars with full energy, his strikes and movements fueled by the emotions that play about dramatically on his face. Yukhei, clearly adjusting his own skill and style to match Han’s and provide forgiveness for the Prince’s lack of considerable skill, is obviously struggling to keep his own emotions from his face. 

The two of them together make a rather entertaining sight; Yukhei, who is typically so terrible at keeping his emotions from his features, using all of his energy to do so and Han, who frequently hides behind a cool expression and refined postures, sloppy in form and technique with his emotions painted over his face in alarming clarity. As Yukhei makes a successful strike and Han unbalance, Jongdae finds that a smile has overtaken his features as he’s watched, and recovers himself slightly as Yukhei swiftly steps back before he knocks Han down, bowing to end the sparring match with his prince and turning to Jongdae expectantly. 

Of course he had been watching Jongdae, aware of his surroundings, while Han appears surprised to have been the subject of observation. The smile is hard to push from Jongdae’s features this time.

“Have you tired already?” Han asks, his voice breathless and face shining in sweat. The lines of it have run down his neck, staining the collar of his robes and his eyes are alive with anticipation. He looks tired, but determined to push himself regardless. Idly, as Jongdae waits for him to approach and settles his own weight into the ground, he wonders if Han’s determination is fueled by his own desire to prove his skills or to reassert his position with Jongdae. Perhaps it is a combination.

“Hardly,” Jongdae says, mouth curling up in an anticipatory smirk. “It will take a significantly larger amount of strenuous activity before I am exhausted. Have you tired yourself? I may continue alone if you prefer a respite.” 

“Hardly,” Han mimics him, though his stance is weaker as he sets against Jongdae’s, facing him once more. His style has evidently been warmed up, though his endurance is beginning to wane as Jongdae begins to spar, focusing his attention on watching and working with Han’s form, his evident weaknesses and flaws taking more of his attention than Han’s actual movements against him. He can hear Han’s ragged breaths, see the exhaustion that settles stronger in his legs, where his straight should stem from, rather than his core and upper body. His hits are strong but without foundation, and Jongdae finds himself moving Han in his own attacks and blocks rather than finding himself moved as he had experienced with General Huang. 

Han appears pleased as the sparring continues, his expressions betraying his surprise and assurance that Jongdae’s own behavior suggests his skills are on par with Han’s rather than that Jongdae is simply matching his and working to extend the fight. Yet the distraction of the fight and concentration Han pours into it offers a significant advantage Jongdae hadn’t imagined until he feels Han stumble and nearly crash into him, experiencing an unexpected shiver that runs through his husband’s body as they press too close. 

“Careful,” Jongdae warns, pressing his advantage and slipping in too close again, making Han spring back and unbalance in his haste, clumsily recovering to advance once more. The confirmation of Jongdae’s curiosity has his smirk widening, his breaths hastening as he watches Han. His defenses are down, at least in terms of posturing and choosing his phrasing well enough that he censors himself. It provides an advantage Jongdae realizes he hadn’t expected.

“I am,” Han snaps, lashing out in another rash strike that holds the power but no strength behind it from his base. Jongdae dodges it easily. 

“I hope this is helping,” he says, aiming a few faster and more difficult to block strikes that Han once more has to unbalance to avoid, his teeth gritting in concentration. Jongdae’s blood pounds in excitement. “With all of the frustration you wanted to work out.”

“Of course,” Han says, voice unguarded and clearly too distracted to be dishonest. “Is this not how you work out your frustrations? That’s what you had explained.”

“Of course,” Jongdae continues, allowing a few strikes to drive him back. He steps easily out of the way when Han kicks out at his legs, and trapping Han’s foot, stepping once more far too close and having Han stumbling backwards hastily. “I am glad this is as effective for you as myself. I was simply curious if it aids in alleviating all of your frustrations, especially those most recent.” Han’s teeth are grit as he focuses on the more rapid strikes and kicks that are aimed at him, struggling to keep up but pushing himself regardless, falling into Jongdae’s hands easily. “The reality of our marriage-“ Han ducks a clearly timed and prepared strike, “- the lack of freedom that being with me creates-“ Han’s form falters, and his breathing suddenly stutters, his eyes flashing for a moment away from Jongdae’s strikes and body to his face, his eyes, “-and the notion of finally bedding me being so repulsive to you, right?”

Suddenly, a snarl, more vicious and indignant that Jongdae had previously witnessed from him, expressive, open, unrefined and entirely unrestrained escapes Han as he knocks Jongdae’s arms back with a sudden surge of force. “Of course not!” his voice is sharp, indignant, and it rings through the courtyard. His eyes are burning, boring into Jongdae’s as he bears down over him for a fleeting moment before realization seems to dawn on him and he seizes up, stilling upon realizing exactly what had occurred. 

The outburst had surprised Jongdae, and he finds himself stilling in response, his goal accomplished and with an unexpected outcome. Granted, Jongdae hand’t known exactly what kind of reply Han would provide him when he’d begun asking, goading and manipulating the situation to his advantage, but still, the admittance does surprise him, and he finds himself stepping back and releasing his stance. “I see,” he begins to say. 

Yet the words never fully leave him, as, clearly coming to full realization, Han lashes out and drops to kick Jongdae’s feet out from under him. Unprepared, Jongdae crashes to the ground, his weight kicked out from under him and feels the air slam from his lungs painfully. Letting out a cough, he looks up at his husband, Han’s expression fleeting before his eyes before he swiftly pushes up and return the sentiment, not giving Han a moment to recover before kicking his legs out in retribution, sending him crashing down as well. Unfortunately, as Han’s stance had already been poor, Jongdae lets out a wheeze, the air already knocked out of him and further expelled as Han lands atop him with a pained groan. 

Beyond them, the voices of Yukhei and General Huang begin to call out, and yet the words get lost in the ringing in Jongdae’s ears, only his and Han’s labored breaths rattling around him filling up the space. His chest aches, his muscles beginning to burn at the exertion from the sparring, and yet, despite the stress and tension that had followed through most of their efforts, Jongdae finds that the consistent frustration which had carried itself upon him for weeks has finally seemed to dissipate. The weight of Han over him is uncomfortable, but not unpleasant, and while hot and still clearly pained, Han doesn’t make any move to push himself up from Jongdae’s prone figure. 

“You cheated,” Han rasps at him, angling himself from where he’s half sprawled atop Jongdae to meet his eyes. 

Wetting his lips and coaxing air back into his aching lungs, Jongdae coughs out a hoarse laugh, a satisfied smile finding its way across his features. “Perhaps you’re not as good as you imagine yourself to be,” he replies, voice coming out in a croaking wheeze, and, surprisingly, Han returns his smile, his eyes softening. Their breaths evening, Jongdae notices that, still, neither has made a move to shift positions. Considering his own recovering and trying to return air to himself, Jongdae does not consider himself entirely fit to return to activity immediately, yet Han he expected to remove himself with relative punctuality. Yet Han remains, his breath finally calming as he appears to finally relax, the tension beginning to sweep from his exhausted figure as he finally allows himself a respite.

It is curious, though Jongdae is not about to complain, that while Han avoids significant contact and embracing, in this moment, clearly pushed beyond his limits, Han appears complacent in the proximity. When Jongdae makes to move, pushing himself up slightly and taking observation of the courtyard, Han still makes no move to shift himself from where he is half sprawled over Jongdae’s prone body. 

By the side of the courtyard, Yuna stands with Guanheng and General Huang, looking out at the two princes with relative confusion and incredulity on her face. Noticing Jongdae’s attention and acknowledging his nod, she approaches them swiftly, sweeping into a bow when Han turns and notices her presence. With their bodies pressed so close together, Jongdae can feel him stiffen when he realizes their company, and when Han hastily pushes himself from his position atop Jongdae, it feels slightly odd to lack his weight. 

“What?” Han asks, the lack of formality almost foreign in his voice. 

“I am only surprised to find you here,” Yuna explains, bowing to him but looking perplexed still. “Were you not aware you were to be commencing your bedding this evening? The council expected you to be using this afternoon to prepare yourselves and be in your chambers to be-“

“We are clearly preoccupied,” Han interrupts her abruptly, his voice sharp and unsettled. His face is flushed, though the flush appears to be from more than their exercise, and he straightens himself as if forcing imposition on the servant. Yuna, to her credit, raises an eyebrow at him before bowing and turning away, consenting to inform the council of the change.

Still reclining and looking up at his husband, Jongdae takes in how Han’s shoulders have once more gone stiff, though the fatigue still hangs about him and there is a lingering wistfulness that seems to hang about him, as if he wishes to return to… something else than what news Yuna had brought with her. “My husband,” Jongdae begins gently, holding back a smile when Han visibly reacts to the endearment. “If you cannot tolerate lying with me even in this context and others happening upon our entanglement, we are going to have a very difficult evening.”

“We are not having sex tonight,” Han’s voice is sharp, edged, though, as Jongdae looks up at him, the temper evident in his voice is not actually directed at Jongdae. He casts one lingering look at Jongdae before letting out a newly frustrated sigh and turning from him, striding from the courtyard before Jongdae can make further comment about such a definitive remark. As he passes them, Yukhei and General Huang appear to try to engage him in conversation, but they are similarly ignored as the prince passes them with clear intent. 

As Jongdae slowly gathers himself, feeling a well deserved ache and soreness in his muscles that is welcome and somehow reassuring, he watches the two soldiers as they exchange quiet words, clearly concerning the events of the day and what transpired. The expression on General Huang’s face is nothing short of vexed, his countenance darkened significantly, yet the look that consumes Yukhei’s face is concerned, almost sad, and the expression does not dissipate when he turns to look upon Jongdae with those expressive eyes. 

Before Jongdae can ask what is the cause of such an expression, the young guard turns and leaves. With a solemn finality, General Huang informs Jongdae that the prince has retired for the day and Jongdae is requested to visit the baths to allow himself appropriate respite after such a vigorous afternoon. 

“It’s not me,” Jongdae proposes as General Huang bows and indicates for him to leave before him from the courtyard. _I am not the cause of his displeasure_ , he wants to clarify, but leaves the words unsaid. The General’s form tenses minutely, but he offers no answer, instead remaining in resolute silence as Jongdae sighs and takes his leave, allowing himself an answer in the silence that will have to comfort him until the truth can truly be uncovered.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this update took forever but it's here! I haven't forgotten about this story at all). Thank you so much to everyone who is reading and giving support! It really is so nice to hear you are having fun reading ~! 
> 
> Just a heads up, this chapter includes rated material (discussion of preparing for anal sex, kissing, light petting, nudity, and mostly Jongdae and Han being *intimate*. There is no sex in this chapter). If this sort of thing makes you uncomfortable, please stop reading at:
> 
>  _“I have to be able to touch you,” Jongdae tells him. . ._
> 
> and then skip to: 
> 
> _Watching Han’s expression war with him to maintain a level of composure. . ._
> 
> I hope you enjoy this update! I will always make sure to let you know if there is any material coming up that is higher than a PG rating :)

The morning dawns and brings with it Council member Cheng arriving as they wake. The night before Han had been relatively solemn, following procedure with shifu Wang though speaking with clear determination that they would only be resting that evening, stating that their sparring had taxed them both physically to such a degree that further exertion would be unhealthy. Despite feeling perfectly well himself, Jongdae made no remark, preferring to simply allow for the night to pass easily and occupying himself with observing the subtle changes in his husband, most particularly, his poorly hidden inclination toward practicing touches and small forms of embrace.

The news brought forth from Cheng has Han’s composure darkening as the council men greets them with their servants. There is no training allowed that day, according to him and the council, as the princes have far more important matters to attend to and which, as evidenced the day prior, should not waste their strength prior to. “You have a duty, to yourselves as well as this kingdom,” the councilman says with that wide and deceptive smile of his, the sharp glint in his eyes holding the threat behind his words. “Thus, we have arranged that both of you will be commencing early this afternoon. The servants will see to it that all matters are taken care of, and perhaps, to aid in the preparation, a tea will be served.”

Though Jongdae wants to object, suspicious that such a formality may end up being counterproductive in his engaging with Han, he does not, instead nodding in acceptance as his husband remains in sullen silence while Cheng departs. Chittaphon smiles at him, as if in celebration that their progress will see fruition, and Jongdae finds his own returning smile to be lackluster and leave a sour taste in his mouth. Han remains silent for the remainder of the morning, and makes no effort to engage in conversation. To be fair, neither does Jongdae, and only as Jongdae departs to his lessons does he pause and wish Han a pleasant morning and take in the sight of him. He looks uneasy, fatigued and preoccupied, his expression as dark as the deep blue in his ceremonial robes that adorn his lithe figure. Jongdae wonders idly as he strides to the room he and Master Wu have been studying in near the gardens, if Han will be wearing the same garments when they meet again in the afternoon.

The lessons feel more difficult as Jongdae struggles to learn and memorize the characters that Master Wu has begun to teach him. Most of Jongdae’s own language had been composed of a few phonetic symbols and letters grouped together, but in Pianjian they use characters for all of their words, and each one a unique pictograph dating back centuries. They’re beautiful, but have Jongdae’s head aching as he tries to memories them and their corresponding sounds and meanings. Luckily, Master Wu is a forgiving teacher, and only assigns him ten per day that me must practice and memorize as he introduces new grammar, vocabulary, and phrases to Jongdae’s slowly growing repertoire of language.

Around the midday meal, Jongdae is collected by Guanheng and Chittaphon who inform him he will be dining alone in the gardens as Han’s meeting with the council members had run late. “The king has joined the meeting,” Chittaphon explains, heedless of the warning look Guanheng sends him. It is heartening, Jongdae finds, that, despite his position, Chittaphon appears to have little to no regard for disobeying what may be direct orders or preferred method of conduct, especially when it comes to answering Jongdae’s questions and assisting him. The meal is a light affair, a cool soup with a bowl of fresh greens and fruits. Jongdae eats slowly, aware of how the spread is specifically laid out for him with regard to his planned activities later that day. 

According to what shifu Wang had explained the night before, the bedding ceremony will be prefaced with another treatment, this one more potent, which is better received without food and after a short period of fasting. Naturally, such preparations are with the intention to increase their chances of conceiving, and Jongdae pays little mind to the obvious hunger that may afflict him later.

Following the meal, Jongdae is allowed a quiet repose in the garden, which he utilizes by tracing and practicing the figures of characters he had learned that morning in the earth. It feels as if the time passes slowly, the space lingering before a much larger event that had seemed so distant until this morning. Somehow, despite how Jongdae knew this moment would arrive when he had agreed to the marriage almost two months prior, and the length of time it required before this day arrived, it feels sudden. Though Jongdae does not feel unprepared, he does feel a marginal degree of nervousness at how close the time has become, slipping between his fingers like the water in the cool garden stream slips through the rocks along its journey. 

“Your grace,” rouses Jongdae from his contemplation, the light touch at his shoulder alerting him. Guanheng appraises him with a soft expression, Chittaphon waiting behind him a few paces, a soft flush upon his cheeks. “It is time we prepared you.”

The baths are different in the light of mid day, the sunlight streaming into the room and reflecting off the water, making it shine with brilliance and energy that it often lacks when bathed in lamplight. The heat of the day feels more intense in the baths, and Jongdae finds himself grateful to shed himself of his robes quickly, passing them to Guanheng and Chittaphon as the servants assist him. Aside from the typical soaps, brushes, and infusions that line the bath, there are new items, oils and creams, a few salves, a small skin flask, and Jongdae’s eyes linger upon them as he undresses and takes account of his own body. The matter of sex is not foreign to him, though the further complication of sex with men had not always been made relevant to him, as for many years it was assumed Jongdae would take a woman in marriage rather than a man. However, the overall practice of preparing oneself is not new to Jongdae, and he had, especially when younger and more adventurous with his exploits, learned a significant amount from those willing to share their knowledge and expertise. 

“I assume we are both to be cleaned and prepared,” Jongdae remarks, his attention on the oils and salves provided. “As it doesn’t matter which one of us bears the child, as long as one of us is successfully productive.” 

“Y-your grace.” Guanheng’s voice sounds a bit tighter than usual, and the servant refuses to meet his eyes when Jongdae looks at him. A flush covers his face, and Jongdae notices for the first time that both he and Chittaphon have stripped as well, naked and looking unimaginatively frail in being so. “”The council did request that you be made ready for the bedding, and it was implied that the Prince will receive similar preparations before you-“

“Made ready,” Jongdae repeats, taking in the sight of his two servants. The depth of his mind supply him with Fei’s comments, and the intention of these two young men to serve as not only his personal aids and servants but also for his own sexual gratification should his desire arise. Realizing the intention, and suggestion, Jongdae feels the air in his lungs heat and his spine goes rigid as his own distaste courses through him. “I do not require your services in that matter, I am perfectly capable of ensuring my body is capable and willing for the night to come.”

Chittaphon and Guanheng exchange a swift look, clearly uneasy and uncertain. Though Chittaphon looks relieved, Guanheng appears more persistent, though his flush darkens and the nervousness he clearly feels is emphasized as he continues to wet his lips in apprehension. “Your grace,” he begins, stepping forward. A look passes over him and he appears to ready himself, his countenance softening and his posture relaxing as he urges himself to meet Jongdae’s gaze. “We are here to be of assistance, and, though I make no presumption, our level of experience in such matters-“

“You may assist me in bathing,” Jongdae says clearly, deliberately, and sternly. The scowl that settles over his features is less authentic as it is to ensure he is taken seriously and obeyed. “Nothing more. I will call upon you if I require assistance in cleaning out and making my own body supplicatory for my husband. Am I understood?”

“Yes, your grace,” Chittaphon answers quickly, stepping forward and in front of Guanheng. He smiles, as if truly grateful, and takes Jongdae by the arm, leading him towards the baths. “We understand. Would you prefer to use the rose or jasmine soaps? Or perhaps the cherry blossom? It is such a sweet and delicate fragrance.” In his care, Jongdae finds himself relaxing, the touch of Chittaphon now familiar and calming, the servant already having demonstrated his own loyalty and concern with Jongdae’s wishes and intentions, and his willingness to remain defiant of those who threaten his virtues and ethics. Jongdae realizes that, in Chittaphon’s care, he is trusting and easily allows himself to surrender to being cared for, the servant easily pouring water down his back and assisting him in washing away the sweat and minimal dirt that may have remained upon his skin. In a few moments, Guanheng joins them, slipping into the water beside Jongdae and helping to scrub his back, the careful diligence in his treatment giving Jongdae reassurance that he has chosen to listen to Jongdae’s request and comply. 

Finally clean and feeling refreshed, Jongdae allows himself a moment of repose, lingering in the warm waters after being rinsed and anointed with the jasmine oils that Chittaphon brought. Turning to the servants, Jongdae dismisses them, with a stern look at Guanheng who appears resistant to leaving Jongdae to his own devices. “I will summon you if I require assistance,” Jongdae reminds firmly. “Wait outside.”

Taking care to relieve himself before returning to the baths, Jongdae takes account of the provided materials arranged before him. Though not all of them he imagines will be relevant or require being used, Jongdae is familiar with a few of them. Some of the oils are unfamiliar to him, as well as the salves and ointments, which are a variety of smooth consistency, and one of them relatively paste-like and sticky, yet not unpleasant. Testing a few on the skin of his arm and examining their effects, Jongdae encourages his body to relax, taking slow even breaths. The small skin flask that had been provided is already full of water, warm and clean and more rests besides the bath in a small basin, an empty basin beside it, presumably reserved for used water. 

Finally selecting one of the substances Jongdae is more familiar with, a sort of jelly that has the same consistency and taste as an ointment they used to make in Pyeongyeon out of a common seaweed, Jongdae sets about cleaning himself out. It feels strange at first, especially as he had not undergone the process of washing himself out for a considerable amount of time. Most of his experience with men had been exterior, and rarely was there the luxury of taking their time together. Jongdae had never been intimate with a woman, though the urge had presented itself on numerous occasion. The thought of fathering a bastard like himself to suffer the anguish and cruelty of being a banished and yet ‘usable’ child too much for him to bear upon himself, and the concept of impressing a similar fate upon a child of his own disgusted Jongdae too intensely to ever tempt him to lie with a woman intimately and take such a risk.

At least, Jongdae thinks, eyes closed and breaths kept even as he keeps his body relaxed and his motions gentle and careful, any child that may come from his marriage with Han will be legitimate, and the fears he has been harboring for all his life will finally end. So far, as long as Jongdae has traveled with the court and been in Han’s company, there had been no mention or whispers like had always trailed his footsteps in the palace compound in Goyangi. At least here, he is expected to be and to act an manifest as a full blooded prince, and while a small part of Jongdae feels dishonest about portraying himself as such, the security such expectation provides has him at least reassured that he may remain and his children may always have a home and protection. 

The thought brings him comfort, allowing him to relax and ease into the opening of his own body, giving him hope that whatever may come from his marriage with Han that may cause stress or conflict, at least that threat is behind him. At least, in one respect, he is safe at last. It almost makes him eager, the security and protection that a child would grant him tempting and just beyond the reach of his fingers, and Jongdae lets out a soft gasp as he reaches towards it. It feels hot in his throat, and he opens his eyes to the ceiling of the baths and stills, coming back from his thoughts to the current moment. It’s warm, and he lets himself go, knowing his own body well enough to deem it appropriately prepared for the night and its subsequent activities. Cleaning himself once more with a quick wash in the baths and drying himself, he calls Chittaphon and Guanheng once more to his service. The robe they present him with this time is loose, a soft white and pale blue, meant to be worn more as a dressing gown than a proper garment. 

The purpose of it is for removal, Jongdae recognizes, but says nothing as the two young servants arrange it about him, taking note of how carefully they arrange it about his figure. The nape of the neck is pulled back, exposing the skin and tucking it high against his throat, offering a subtle temptation and intrigue. His wrists are covered, though the sash that wraps about his waist is tied high, wrapping about his midriff and fastening just above his hip, the length ending in a long flow about his legs, though the robe parts and falls away to expose his legs if he moves to express them. It is, Jongdae observes, a very fitting garment for a night of intimacy and sensuality. 

Being dressed so specifically, Jongdae feels oddly nervous when he leaves the baths, exposed as he returns through the palace to the bedchambers and rooms where he and Han reside. Guanheng presents him through one of the side rooms into a clearly set tea, a kettle set against a small stove and a tea master waiting, her hands folded over her lap and her formal robes tucked and arranged immaculately about her. The sun had set outside, the late afternoon orange and red hues bursting through a few of the open windows to cascade down the wall behind her, creating a rather dramatic ambiance to such a solemn and quiet ceremony. 

Jongdae settles himself upon one of the cushions, realizing that he is the first to arrive. There is no food set with the tools and materials for the tea, and Jongdae allows himself a small sigh. They will be missing dinner, most likely, and though Jongdae has gone days without proper meals in the past, the condition that he must once more abstain from meals in order to have sex with his husband most productively is an inconvenience he had not expected nor finds particularly enjoyable. Perhaps if Jongdae were truly interested in being with his husband out of any desire aside from duty and responsibility, his sentiments would be different, however-

The door slides open across the room, and Jongdae looks up from where he had been studying the layout of the table to see Yuna step aside for Han to enter the room. He, like Jongdae, appears freshly bathed and prepared, a soft flush against his cheeks and his hair tied back from his face. It is not braided, as Jongdae’s is not, instead pulled back loosely atop his head with a delicately arranged hairpin. Jongdae’s hair had been arranged in a similar fashion by Chittaphon, a green jade pin keeping it in place until it is released. Han’s robe is also white, like Jongdae’s though instead of a pale blue his hosts an embellishment of yellow, threads of gold adorning his collar. It is arranged just as Jongdae’s is, and Jongdae finds his eye drawn to to Han, the subtle exposure and temptation of his skin mimicking Jongdae’s making him look softer and more inviting even in the intense light of the setting sun.

Approaching, Han has the same stiff and intense posture that he had when Jongdae had first seen him, back in the court of Goyangi before they had yet spoken together. This time, Jongdae recognizes it as nervousness, uncertainty and self consciousness as he settles across from Jongdae at the ceremonial tea table and composes himself. Jongdae catches his eyes flickering up to look at him, as if bashful to look at him outright. It has him repressing a smile, bowing his head and concealing his amusement at his husband in his respect towards the tea master. 

As soon as both princes are seated, she begins the preparation of the tea, her hands carefully folding and arranging her own robes and fingers over the tea pot, the kettle for the water, and arranging the cups, setting them perfectly and with the utmost care as she warms the porcelain with hot water for the tea. Settling back, she opens the jar of tea upon the table and presents it to the princes. “This tea is of the highest grade from one of our farthest territories, a crop reserved only for the king and those of royal heritage as it is so fine and delicate.” Jongdae recognizes the tea, to his own surprise, recalling it from a tea ceremony he had been present at almost five years prior when his father had declared triumphantly that they had finally reclaimed the high mountain fields of Fujia (known to Jongdae as Cheonggu).

The tea master plucks a small amount of the tea and places it in the palm of her hand, displaying it before the princes with a soft reverence. “This tea is grown with the utmost care by the caretakers of the temple which occupies the mountains where it is grown. The group of monks there have sworn a life of silence, cultivating and caring for the tea as their devotion and display of alliance towards the divine. This tea is plucked when the buds have just formed, soft, delicate, and sweet, like the morning dew as it draws fragile across the earth, lifting the veil of night and darkness.” Her voice is slow, soft, and mesmerizing, pulling all attention to her as she speaks, the leaves a soft revered enigma in her hand as their story is woven. She carefully releases them into the teapot, gently folded them into the chamber before carefully pouring the hot water over them. “They are harvested and reserved only for the most important occasions.”

The sleeves of his robe covering his hands, and they themselves carefully arranged in his lap, Jongdae resists the urge to curl them into a fist, the subtle reminder of how important this evening and what it means impressed upon him with no small level of significance. Across the small table, Jongdae sees Han’s shoulders stiffen somewhat, the line of his jaw sharpen as he tenses. It is a small reassurance that he is not the only one who has been impressed upon with this message. The tea master falls into silence, pouring out the warming water from the now heated cups before settling back and waiting for the tea to brew with her own hands folded once more upon her lap.

A chime at the edge of the room, hanging from a doorway, sings softly as a breeze graces itself through the palace, the winds changing with the approach of night. All around them is quiet stillness, most of the palace occupants retreated for supper or otherwise preoccupied following the events of the day. The silence feels more acute than Jongdae had experienced it before, and he almost can hear the others breathing in the room with him, feel the soft shudder in Han’s exhales as he resists fidgeting, and the steady in and out of the tea master as she waits with calculated practice for the tea. The small stove cracks, a charcoal sending a spark through the small opening and Jongdae watches as the red hot ember flies into the air before disappearing into nothing a moment later. Across from him, Jongdae finds Han watching him, his lips parted with his breaths and his eyes dark, deep as they search him and take all of him in.

A soft sigh escapes the tea master, breaking the stillness. She reaches forward with technical finesse and pours them each an exact amount of the tea, no excess escaping, before she sits back and presents them both with the finished product. Reaching forward carefully, his actions mimicked by Han across from him, Jongdae takes the cup carefully in his hands, cradling the hot porcelain delicately in his fingers. The first sip of tea is hot, almost too intense, and Jongdae stills himself at the feeling of sudden heat. The second sip is softer, and he tastes the subtle flavor of the tea itself, a gentle floral mingling with the water and a soft vegetal undertone. It is, indeed, a very pleasant taste, and he finds himself closing his eyes to allow himself to enjoy the rare indulgence. 

A tea ceremony is typically done in relative silence, and Jongdae had taken the time to ask Lady Song about them while traveling, interested when he discovered she herself was from a well known family in the tea trade, owning a significant parcel of land that produced and distributed tea across Pianjian. It had been reassuring to learn that none of her lands had been destroyed during the war, and Jongdae, opening his eyes and taking another sip of tea, relaxing into the experience and serenity the tea brings with itself, is grateful that the same preservation applies to Fujia. The temple and tea fields are familiar to him, as he had been stationed with Junmyeon’s troops at one juncture to protect the area after another army of Pyeongyeon had taken the territory prior. At the time, Jongdae hadn’t realized the significance of the land or the temple and what it produced. Now, he finds himself with more appreciation and respect for just how valuable the territory was and still, presumably, is.

It is with some degree of disappointment that Jongdae realizes his cup is empty, that, in his own thoughts, he had consumed all of his tea. Across from him, he catches a small amused smile on Han’s face as the other man sips once more at his own tea, only half drunk. 

“I see you enjoy it,” the tea master comments, and a smile of appreciation lingers about her countenance.

“I do,” Jongdae says honestly. “I admit I have never tasted tea like this before. I find myself rather disappointed I have been deprived up until this point.”

“The finest things in life must be protected,” Han says, finally setting down his own empty cup. The tea master looks at him with keen eyes, and Jongdae almost expects her to speak on the comment. She does not, instead bowing and pouring them both a second cup, presenting it to them with a final bow. 

“With respect,” she says, sitting back on her cushion, hands once more folded in her lap. “While a traditional ceremony would continue, I believe shifu Wang will be conducting the latter part of this ceremony with his own materials. I hope that this tea brings peace and comfort to you both this evening.” Across the table, Han sits, his teacup raised to his lips, undrinking and eyes diverted from the tea master. Without another word, the tea master reaches forward and collects her tea and the teapot, rising with another formal bow, and retreats from the room, leaving them both. She pauses at the door.

“It was an honor to serve you,” she says, bowing once more.

“Thank you for your services and knowledge,” Jongdae tells her. The tea in his hand is still warm, comforting, and though her words had shaken him slightly, bringing him back to immediate concerns, he is still grateful for the experience. It has been a long time since he was able to partake in a tea ceremony, especially one quite as simple and yet restorative as this had been, and he is thankful for that. “I hope we may once more call upon your services in the future, sooner rather than later, if I may be so bold.”

The comment seems to surprise her, and she slips a small pleased smile before retreating at last, sliding the door closed behind her. 

As soon as the door sets, another silence falls over the room. Against the wall, the light of the setting sun has faded, a gentle softness as twilight falls settling in the space. The lamps and lanterns that had been set out cast the room into a gentle warm glow and Jongdae looks across to Han, watching as the light casts soft shadows against his features. Jongdae finds himself wondering how the light will play over the rest of him, curious if there will be time amid their evening and observed intimacy for him to at least fully observe his husband and become familiar with him. After all, while Jongdae does not have experience in the matter, he is at least of not disillusionment that the likelihood of one of them conceiving after one night is unrealistic. 

“I don’t think I’ve yet seen you truly enjoy something until now,” brings Jongdae back to awareness to find Han watching him just as intently. His cup of tea rests in his hands, but his posture is relaxed, the tension eased out of it since the tea master had left. Apparently the tea had a similar effect upon him as it did Jongdae. 

“Haven’t you?” Jongdae asks, composing himself. He hadn’t been aware that his own sentiments were so blatant, nor that now they were so genuinely obvious.

“Perhaps I haven’t been paying well enough attention,” Han replies. He lets out a small sigh, followed by a cough, averting his eyes. “Though, considering we have discussed my lack of attention, that would explain why I never witnessed you finding pleasure in the things around you since I’ve- since we’ve been together.”

“That would explain it, yes,” Jongdae agrees, feeling more forgiving towards Han tonight and less pressed with the need to remind him of how true this statement is. “Though truly, we never experienced something like this in Goyangi.” His own cup of tea remains warm in his hands, the smooth porcelain comforting and soothing against his palms as he cradles it. “I often times was not privy to the finer things, more often out doing my father’s bidding or managing military affairs. It has not been a peaceful life, so such experiences as this-“ he looks about, the soft light, the quiet serenity of the room, the warm stillness that shrouds the two of them seeping into him with a sort of supple intimacy and calm that Jongdae cannot fully explain his feelings. “It is indeed an indulgence, and one that I am grateful and happy to have partaken in.”

Across the table, Han has risen his cup to his lips, a smile hidden poorly behind the rim as he takes another sip before it flickers, and fades once more. “I will arrange for more such experiences then, in the future,” he says, finally finishing his tea and setting it down upon the table. 

“There is no need to rush,” Jongdae tells him, the action setting a soft turn in his abdomen. Their time is hastening upon them as the evening falls. The look on Han’s face says he knows, and the soft flush and the workings of his throat as he swallows betray Han’s own awareness and tension regarding the matter soon at hand. 

Even as he opens his mouth to speak, the words are stolen from him as the door slides open once more. Turning and setting down his nearly finished tea, Jongdae watches as shifu Wang enters, his robes a pale gray this evening and his hair drawn back in an elegant plait. He carries with him a small assortment of vials, and the sight of them has Jongdae reminded of the jars and flasks of oil and salves and balms that lined the baths, waiting for him that afternoon. The small turn in his abdomen once more reminds him of what is upon them. 

“Your grace, and your grace,” shifu Wang bows to the princes, settling himself easily upon the cushion the tea master had sat upon. “I believe we had discussed prior that you will be provided with a final treatment and then an elixir similar to that which you were previously given to aid you this evening.”

“We are aware,” Han answers. His shoulders once more are stiff, posture taut, and the line of his jaw sharp. Jongdae’s fingers have curled themselves inside his sleeves without his awareness, and he forces himself to relax them, breathing out slowly to relax his whole body once more. Softly in, and out, his breaths easing any tension from him that may cause future discomfort or issue. 

“Let us begin, and then, when we are finished, you may retire to your own rooms privately to continue the evening.”

“Privately,” Jongdae repeats, caught slightly off guard. Previously, when Han had hissed his own discomfort and frustration about their future bedding of one another, he had impressed upon Jongdae that they would be monitored during the process, to ensure that the consummation was legitimate and they had fulfilled their duties. “We are not being-“

“I spoke with the council this morning,” Han interjects, his eyes on Jongdae’s face, though he will not meet his eyes. “We are provided with guards, and aids will be supplied should we require them, but otherwise will not be disturbed.” He does not fully answer Jongdae’s question, and his tone suggests he will not, especially in the presence of the physician, who is currently watching them with curiosity. 

“That is good,” Jongdae says, though somewhat weakly. “I am glad they have provided such accommodations, should they be necessary.”

“With the luck of the alignments that indicate prosperity and bounty, one should not worry over such things,” shifu Wang says, his voice sure and resolute. “As all signs have indicated, your healing from the treatments occurs at a most fortuitous time, and should be thusly taken advantage of.” With that, he lights a small bundle of herbs and begins the ceremony, welcoming Jongdae and Han to join with him as he performs a series of incantations, similar to those he has been conducting for the last few weeks before giving them their tincture. The taste is almost nonexistent now as Jongdae drinks it, so different from the first time the liquid passed his lips. The second liquid tastes very similar to the tea they had just enjoyed, though perhaps slightly sweeter. Jongdae finds himself mulling the flavor over in his mouth as shifu Wang gathers his things and beckons to them to follow him from the room.

The corridor outside the small room feels cool in comparison, and Jongdae lets out a slight shiver as he follows shifu Wang back to their sleeping quarters. The physician stands to the side of their room, opening the door for them while Yura and Guanheng stand to the side, clearly waiting for them.

“May all the luck be with you tonight,” shifu Wang tells them with a bright and encouraging smile before he closes the door after Han, leaving them alone together.

The room has been arranged in a pleasing manner, the bed linens changed and turned down for them, soft lanterns and lights scattered about the room to cast a soft and welcoming glow. The same ointments, oils, and salves are provided in the room as well, along with a few other linens Jongdae assumes will be for cleaning up afterwards, the two basins of water and the small stove brought in and to the side further evidence. It is, overall, a welcoming and inviting sight, and Jongdae finds himself feeling pleasantly warm, though vaguely nervous as well. Turning to Han, he finds him tense once more, his eyes set upon the vials and bottles of lubricants that are in plain view, the flush against his cheeks brighter. 

Jongdae vaguely wonders if it is due to the treatment and elixir or if it is a more natural response to how they will be spending their evening.

“Have you never done something like this before?” Jongdae asks quietly, watching him and trying to gauge his temperament. 

Han lets out a sharp breath, still avoiding his gaze. “They expect us to understand what needs to be done,” he says, his voice as taut as his shoulders. His breaths are short, and a flush begins to creep up his neck. Jongdae lets his eyes fall to the coloring, hidden below the lines of Han’s robe. “They- we,” he lets out a shaking breath, finally turning to Jongdae. Some of the distant cool that Jongdae had first been met with consistently slips back into his eyes, but the effect is lost now Jongdae knows it is a shield he hides behind when his emotions are compromised. “I persuaded them to agree to let us conduct ourselves alone, that we did not require supervision, and were well enough to proceed under our own jurisdiction.”

Stepping forward very slightly, his eyes on Han’s and moving slowly, carefully, so as not to appear forceful, Jongdae smiles. “I’m glad you are feeling well enough,” he says, thinking back to only a few days ago when Han had put on such a spectacular show of disease. “As well as that you trust the treatment to have taken effect in both of us so that we may-“ 

“Stop talking,” Han says abruptly, the cool shield of his eyes fading into darkness as he watches Jongdae, his breaths still slightly faster and the flush still present across his face. The tension in his body hasn’t left, though Jongdae assumes that it won’t as long as they stay like this, and takes a tentative step closer to his husband, gauging his response to their closeness. 

When Han doesn’t pull away, his eyes instead flickering for the briefest of moments to Jongdae’s mouth, lips parted and eyes still dark, the need for further discussion can be allowed to wait, as Jongdae slowly reaches out to his husband. At the brush of his fingers against Han’s shoulder, Han stiffens, his breath stuttering. Yet he doesn’t pull away, instead wetting his lips, some of the dark in his eyes shaping into the familiar glint he had held on the training courtyard; determination. 

It is recognizable, and relatable, Jongdae observes, considering this evening is a part of their duty to one another, to their kingdoms, to the union which is meant to keep peace among their respective now joined lands and people. Perhaps, just as Han had seemed so determined to spar with him, to prove his own skill, and his explosive emotional desire to simply finish the fight extends to this, here and now, and the soft turn in Jongdae’s abdomen once more writhes, though this time in the familiar surge of determination towards an end. With this in mind, he abandons his hesitancy and reaches out without delicacy, laying both hands against Han’s chest and stepping forward into him, leaning up with intended purpose to-

Cold air meets his efforts, and he blinks to find Han has stepped away from him, the line of his body rigid and his eyes flashing, cool and reclusive. “I have to be able to touch you,” Jongdae tells him, lettings his arms drop as frustration begins to build in his chest. 

“I know,” Han tells him, his voice coming out suddenly much lower than Jongdae has heard it. His jaw tenses, teeth clearly grit as Han closes his eyes and breathes deeply. Whether his response is in reaction to Jongdae physically or out of Han’s previous ire at the situation, Jongdae doesn’t know. Rather than focus on it, Jongdae lets out a harsh breath, trying to keep his frustration from building and instead turns his attention upon himself. “What are you doing?” comes the quick demand from Han as Jongdae begins to work at the fastenings of his own robes. 

“What do I appear to be doing?” Jongdae asks him, glancing at his husband in mild exasperation. “I can’t very well bed you fully clothed.” He pauses, fingers holding the unknotted fastens at the ties around his waist. “Unless you would like to-“

“No,” Han’s answer is swift, but his voice low once more and slightly tight. Curious, Jongdae glances at him, noticing Han watching him intently. Careful to keep his gaze hidden, Jongdae resumes removing his robes, though slower, gauging Han’s reactions to the slow reveal of his skin to the room. The flush remains on Han’s face, though his mouth closes and thins to a line. Yet his eyes remain dark, if anything darkening further as he watches Jongdae. 

His robes untied and left loose to hang from his shoulders, Jongdae turns to face Han, reaching up and finally pulling the hairpin out of its knot, the welcome feeling of his hair falling loosely against his back granting him some accomplishment. Before him, Han remains much as he had before, though his eyes travel up and down Jongdae slower now, and his breaths clearly catch in his chest. As slowly as before, yet with clear intention, Jongdae steps towards him, reaching out for Han’s robes as well and catching at the ties resting at his hips. Han’s breath catches as Jongdae steps closer, fingers twisting into the ties. Han, even if he appears determined to deny and resist it, is clearly aroused, which works in their favor, even if Han’s demeanor does not. 

Regardless, Jongdae will work with what he can. After all, this is all a means to an end, ultimately. 

Yet soothing the defiant part of Han still poses as beneficial, and so Jongdae carefully asks, leaning into Han’s space and feeling a slight shudder pass through him. “May I touch you?” 

“No,” comes out firmly, stern and grave, abrupt and stilling Jongdae’s fingers as they had begun working at the ties already.

“Fine,” Jongdae says, stepping away and leaving space. He gestures to Han’s robes while letting his own slip down his shoulders slightly. “If you wish to undress yourself, then please. We may have the night to bed one another but if most of that time is spent disco-“

“Stop talking!” Han snaps, and turns away quickly. He’s flustered, and Jongdae watches as his fingers catch at the ties, his actions clumsy and poor and lacking any of the finesse and grace Jongdae knows he displayed when undressing himself. It is, though Jongdae finds himself petty to admit it, a disappointing display. It almost has Jongdae stepping forward and providing some assistance, though he refrains from doing so, as he is somewhat sure Han will become even less receptive should he do so. Then, as Han pulls loose the tie about his own waist and his robe slips, revealing the flush that has spread down his smooth chest, he stills, holding his garments about him as his eyes close, face twisting. 

“What is it?” Jongdae asks, unsure if the response is due to disease or his own resistance. 

“Not tonight,” Han’s voice is soft, tense and yet clear. “I won’t do this, not tonight.”

Frowning, Jongdae ventures a small step forward. “Are you ill?”

“No,” Han’s voice is stronger, and he shakes his head, even as his hands tighten on the robes around him. The stiffness in his shoulders is back, the tension along his body and the cold resistance once more settled in him. It reeks of the same frustration and anger Jongdae had endured while traveling to Pianjian and he finds himself with significantly less patience for it now. 

“Then what?” Jongdae demands, stepping forward boldly and letting his robes slip from his shoulders, crumpling to the ground behind him. It doesn’t matter, with the way the night is intended to proceed, he would be skin bared and open regardless, what difference does it make when that takes place? Han’s eyes open to take him in, and his face twists once more, his grip tightening on his robes even as his jaw sets in defiance. “Are you scared?” Jongdae demands, uncaring if this insults his husband. He’d seen the rise his goading produced from Han in the training courtyard, and knows how that emotional response can work in his own hands. Han stiffens, his eyes flashing at the implication. “Uncomfortable with having sex with me? Mad, even, at me? The council? Yourself? Do I repulse you?” Han’s mouth has thinned to a line, his throat working hard as he swallows down obvious retorts. “Regardless, scared, angry, or any of it, that doesn’t matter, because the outcome is the same and ultimately, one way or another, we will have to bed one another, so we might as well contend with it and make peace rather than-“

“Make peace?” Han blurts out, his breath leaving him in an angry rush. “Make peace with what? With being for-“

“I’m not forcing you,” Jongdae snaps, his temper catching as Han continues to resist fate and further complicate things. “I am suggesting that we at least _try_ to be with one another tonight.” Han’s mouth snaps shut, his eyes flickering quickly between Jongdae’s, that familiar glint flashing in them. “If you have to steel yourself to have sex with me, then at least we should utilize our time to become accustomed to one another, otherwise when the time comes it will be far less comfortable and far more difficult. If we achieve nothing tonight, then we can wait until another night, be we have to at the very least _attempt_ tonight, or everything we have done is for nothing.”

They stand in silence, Jongdae close enough to feel Han’s hastened breaths against his face, feel the shudder in them while Han looks into his own fierce gaze, dark and flickering as his jaw tenses and relaxes. Despite the defiance stretched about his features, he no longer protests, and at last, after a long exhale, Han appears to relax with significant effort, his hands finally releasing at his sides as his eyes close and his forehead pinches ever so minutely. “Alright,” he says, voice quiet in his consent. 

Despite his display, Jongdae finds himself surprised at how quickly Han relented, cooperating and consenting to the terms where in the past he typically resisted and refused outright. He may be resistant, fighting to assert himself and his authority in the face of his duties and the reality Jongdae is unashamed to remind him of, but the ease of his consent comes quickly, and relatively painless, which strikes Jongdae. Carefully, and with great attention, Jongdae waits until Han once more opens his eyes and looks at him. 

“May I touch you?” Jongdae asks again, making no move until Han answers. 

The muscles in Han’s jaw tense briefly, though he only wets his lips, his eyes closing once more as he lets out a soft breath and says, “yes.” 

Slowly, perhaps with a bit more attention, Jongdae reaches up once more, though this time avoids touching Han’s body and instead slowly pulls out the hairpin holding Han’s hair in the loose knot. It is clearly an unexpected gesture, as Han lets out a soft intake of breathe as his hair is left to fall to hang down his back. It looks nice, calm, relaxed, and Jongdae allows himself a moment to let his fingers catch in it, brushing through the soft strands gently. When Han still does not pull away or resist, Jongdae lets the hair fall and lets his fingers come to rest at the collar of Han’s robes, somewhat fallen away from his neck and collar. They’re warm from Han’s heat, and he carefully smooths his fingers along the golden embroidery, letting the raised threads press against the pads of his fingers as he follows them down Han’s chest. Han’s breath catches, and Jongdae seizes the reaction to let his hand pause, laying to rest against Han’s chest, soft, gentle, just touching, and looks up to Han’s face, meeting his gaze. 

It’s dark, and the flush against Han’s cheeks is darker, though his jaw is still tight, his eyes still flashing with that determination and resilience to him, the shake in his breaths betrays a nervousness Jongdae is only now truly learning to identify in his husband. “Is this okay?” Jongdae asks quietly, allowing himself to move closer ever so slightly. 

In response, Han swallows, his own hand dropping one of the ties and coming to grasp Jongdae’s over his chest. For a moment, there is a soft tug, as if Han is about to pull his hand away, and Jongdae opens his mouth to protest when suddenly Han leans forward and kisses him. It’s stiff, the determined press of lips to lips that is more action and force than it is an attempt at further intimacy. However, as Jongdae pushes back, leaning up against Han’s mouth, had they not discussed prior that much of what they are doing is forced, at least in some respect? At this point, most of their intimacy is not genuine, even if that were the best option, it is not the realistic one. One must deal with what one has, Jongdae considers, and leans into the kiss, reaching up with his free hand to cup Han’s jaw and guide him into deepening the kiss, which appears to surprise Han as he lets out a soft gasp as Jongdae presses against his mouth. 

Seizing the opportunity, Jongdae leans closer, pulling Han down into a stronger kiss, more controlled, less forced and pulling Han into him rather than forcing back and turning it into a combative exchange of determination. It works, at least in some respect, as some of Han’s reservations appear forgotten and he follows, willingly, into the chase of Jongdae’s mouth. His grip around Jongdae’s hand loosens and Jongdae wraps his fingers into the fabric of Han’s robes, pulling it aside and loose, using the leverage to maneuver them so Jongdae is pressed closer and Han’s center of gravity is dependent on Jongdae guidance. It has the turning heat in Jongdae’s abdomen writhing, which encourages him to break from the kiss to trail his mouth along Han’s jaw, earning him another shuddering breath and one of Han’s hands grasping at his waist. It startles, clearly unfamiliar with the bare skin, but Jongdae pays no need, slipping his free hand back from Han’s jaw and around to carefully cradle the nape of Han’s neck, stepping closer and beginning to move them towards the bed. 

In response, Han steps back, Jongdae’s learning force and grasp pulling him out of balance and recentering him as Jongdae distracts him with soft kisses and gentle touches. It works much better than Jongdae had imagined, feeling Han’s pulse quicken under his lips and listening to soft gasps and a few noises slip past Han’s lips, his hand firmly settled against Jongdae’s waist as his other rests loose around Jongdae’s wrist, supple and willing in Jongdae’s hands. With every step closer, Jongdae can feel his own body respond to his actions, and as he presses closer to the bed, turning them so his calves rest against the linens, he can feel Han’s responding reaction against him as well. 

Pulling back to press another firm kiss to Han’s mouth, Jongdae releases his hold on Han’s neck to grasp both hands in Han’s robes, pulling him down into the kiss and over him, leaning backwards. It had been surprisingly easy, Jongdae muses, feeling Han follow him with easy willingness that Jongdae had not expected, to coax had so quickly into this position. If anything, Han appears eager, chasing Jongdae’s mouth with his own and his hands quickly reaching out for him as Jongdae leans back to lay them into bed together. However, just as Jongdae begins to pull the robes away and Han looms over him, awareness seems to once more catch up with the prince and he suddenly stiffens, eyes flying wide and jerking back. 

“No,” he says quickly, pulling back, his hands flying from Jongdae as if burned. He steps back, turning away, one hand rising to cover his mouth quickly as the flush on his face deepens. 

Frustrated and confused, Jongdae looks up at him, seated on the bed and taking in the visage of his defiant husband. The thin robes do little to disguise the arousal that Han is experiencing, and Jongdae finds himself looking at the obvious indication that his efforts were not without response, and, according to what is expected of them, a successful result. Yet Han had stopped them before proceeding, which would, undoubtable, be in their favor if they continued.

“Did I hurt you?” Jongdae asks tentatively, watching as Han slowly runs his hand down his face, his breathing heavy and shaking. “Or-“

“No, I am- I am fine. You-“ Han’s voice cracks and he takes in a long breath. “You have done nothing wrong.”

Curious, Jongdae pushes himself up, carefully stepping closer to Han, who does not pull away from him as he nears, instead turning to him slightly, as if responding to him. He doesn’t pull away when Jongdae reaches up and rests his hand against his shoulder, nor stop him when he lets his hand smooth down Han’s arm and rest gently cradling his wrist. He lets Jongdae reach up and pull his other hand away from where it covers his face, his eyes closed and expression gently furrowed, but body willing when Jongdae cradles his face and caresses his cheek with his thumb. Han, if anything, is supplicate in his hands, leaning into the touch and responsive even if he will not look at him.

“May I touch you?” Jongdae asks once more, his voice softer and he feels the breath in Han’s chest hitch. “More of you?” He waits, watching Han breathe, leaning into Jongdae’s hand and feeling some of the tension in his body ease out of him with every soft caress Jongdae slides to his cheek, against the soft inside of his wrist. Finally, he opens his eyes, meeting Jongdae’s. They’re softer, darker, the cloud of arousal clear in them as his breaths remain hot and slightly hastened. Yet there is a small hint of sadness when Han nods and doesn’t pull away when Jongdae leans up to gently kiss him. 

The robes are so soft, warm from Han’s body and Jongdae slowly, carefully, lets his hand slip from cradling Han’s jaw, kissing him softly, gently, quiet presses of lips to lips in a promise to not rush. Han’s skin is hot, clean and smooth under Jongdae’s fingers as he wanders his touch down Han’s neck, along his clavicle and under the neck of the robes, gently and carefully pushing the fabric aside to slide his open palm against more skin. He feels Han shiver under his touch, his breath stuttering in a kiss and Jongdae pauses, waiting for him to calm before resuming, finally sliding the garment off one of Han’s shoulders and dancing his fingers back to rest against Han’s chest. The soft beating of his heart pulses into Jongdae’s palm, strong and heady, coaxing and Jongdae leans up, pressing a firmer kiss to Han’s mouth and feeling him open readily under him. It sends a rush through him, feeling Han respond to him so easily, and without thinking he slips his hand lower, pushing it down and feeling Han rock forward, his breath suddenly catching and-

“Stop!” Han breaks the kiss, his hand swiftly grasping at Jongdae’s wrist tightly. He’s panting, heavily, and pulls away, though not far, only enough to put a distance between them, his head bowing as he tries to catch his breath. “I can’t-“

“You can-“ Jongdae begins to say, confused and frustrated at-

“Please,” Han’s voice comes out dry and desperate, astonishing Jongdae into silence. Head bowed, Han’s grip on Jongdae’s hand loosens, and the tension releases, though he keeps Jongdae at a distance. “Please,” he repeats, and the sincerity in his voice is so raw it has Jongdae swallowing, feeling uncommonly lost. “Nothing more tonight, not- not that far, at least. Let this be enough.” He raises his head to look at Jongdae, and there in his eyes again is that sort of sadness, though it mingles with a pleading that clouds with arousal and thoroughly confuses Jongdae.

“Alright,” Jongdae says, his voice somewhat breathless. He hadn’t realized it, but Han’s sudden change had left him with his own stuttered breaths, the uncharacteristic pleading and desperation shocking him so deeply he’d stilled entirely himself. “Alright, nothing further,” he consents. “Not unless you decide otherwise and tell me.” Han’s mouth forms a thin line, his throat working as he swallows with difficulty, but finally nods, releasing his old on Jongdae’s wrists. “Will you, at the very least,” Jongdae asks, choosing his words carefully, as he still does not want this evening to be a wasted opportunity. “Will you lie together with me?”

It appears for a moment as if Han will refuse, his hands tightening around Jongdae’s wrists and his eyes flickering, but he finally relents, letting his hands drop and nodding. “Yes,” he agrees, and allows Jongdae to reach forward and take his hands, drawing him towards the bed. “But nothing more.”

“Nothing more,” Jongdae agrees, watching with interest and a strange new fondness as Han lets himself be guided into bed so easily by Jongdae’s touch. He doesn’t protest when Jongdae pulls at his robes, instead finally relenting in letting them fall away, though he curls around himself as if unaccustomed to being so bare and hiding his body and its response to their prior intimacy. “You have nothing to fear from my eyes,” Jongdae tells him, running what he hopes is a comforting hand down Han’s shoulder and over his arm.

“I expect nothing less from such a loving husband,” Han’s dry sarcasm greets his comment, and the remark elicits a small smirk from Jongdae, at least some level of normalcy to what had presented itself as a new and unfamiliar side of Han he had never seen before, nor expected. Despite the remark, he allows Jongdae to pull him down into the bed with him, though he angles himself away from Jongdae, lying down and facing away, his hair pooling in the bed around him. Jongdae finds the position curious, as, while Han may have meant the movement to express dismissal, it instead presents as him hiding himself, curling around his arousal and shielding it from Jongdae’s view. 

Allowing his gaze to wander over the exposed form of his husband, Jongdae takes in the smooth skin, unmarred by scars or wounds, and the soft yet definite lines. The muscle gives faint impressions rather than hard lines across his back and shoulders, lending to definition without the intensity. Allowing his gaze to drop lower, Jongdae finds that, as his suspicions had suggesting, Han had also been prepared and cleaned prior to the tea ceremony. Careful and with his eyes on Han’s face, turned away, Jongdae reaches out and gently lays a hand against Han’s hip. When he is met with no response or refusal, he lays himself down, carefully, beside him and settles himself as close as he dares to venture, watching intently for any sign of refusal. There is none, only a soft exhale from his otherwise immobile husband. 

“May I touch you?” Jongdae asks once more, aware that the request seems to have an impact upon Han, though whether it is interpreted as a challenge or invitation is unclear and, quite frankly, irrelevant as long as it meets a productive outcome. 

“You may,” Han says, his voice muffled, and he makes no move to indicate otherwise that he had heard the request. 

Slowly, and calculatedly, Jongdae shifts himself closer, sliding his hand gently over Han’s skin, up his waist, along his side, and when the position and closeness allowed for it, up his chest, exploring and familiarizing himself with the feeling of Han’s skin under his touch. He listens, watches, and waits for Han’s responses to the touch, hearing a soft intake of breath when Jongdae’s hand rested at the base of his ribcage and when it caught as he trailed it down his chest, lingering along the clear line of a his exposed hipbone, his fingers just brushing the thin line of hair that lead down from his navel. 

Leaving his hand to rest there, faintly letting his fingers brush through the fine coarse hairs, Jongdae sidles himself closer, until he may rest himself just beside Han, almost curled around him. Taking care to keep his legs and hips at a relative distance, Jongdae leans forward just enough to place a soft kiss to the small of Han’s back, feeling him suddenly tense under his lips. The muscles of Han’s abdomen tense under Jongdae’s fingers, and yet he makes no move to stop Jongdae, instead letting out a shuddering breath, some of the tension slipping away as Jongdae gently strokes his fingers over Han’s stomach. Curious, and listening to Han’s breaths slowly quicken once more, Jongdae presses another kiss to Han’s back, earning another small intake of breath and encouraging him, laying another kiss and then another, traveling along Han’s back as his hand very slowly lingers and drifts down-

“I said-!” suddenly snaps, and Jongdae stills when Han suddenly rears up, flipping himself over and seizing Jongdae’s wrist as he rolls over swiftly and pins Jongdae to the bed. “Stop,” he grates out, teeth grit and eyes blown dark as they bore into Jongdae’s. His hair falls down around them in a relative black curtain, shrouding them in a dark closeness that Jongdae can feel build heat between their two bodies. 

He lies still, wrist held captive in Han’s grip and body relaxed and pliant under Han’s tense and agitated form. If nothing else, Jongdae has at least maintained the interest in Han’s body, and regardless of whether it is the best circumstances, at the very least their new position offers an easy progression. One which Han appears to notice as he looks down at Jongdae, taking in his expression of complacency and the clear language his body displays. Yet instead of hastening to act upon it, Han appears upset, pulling back and looking at Jongdae as if in frustrated disbelief. “Have you truly resigned yourself to this?” he asks, pulling away to look at him. 

Lying still in the bed, limp and prone and tired of pushing for so long this evening, Jongdae simply looks at Han, wondering why the fight to refuse Jongdae is so strong. It is odd, considering over the course of the evening, the emotions and reactions in Han felt more real than many of his behaviors until this point, just as his response and behavior while sparring had felt genuine unlike any other. If these instances are any indication, Jongdae’s assumption that Han feels distaste or rejection towards himself in specifics is untrue, and given the willingness Han displayed under his touch, perhaps it is exactly the opposite. 

Watching Han’s expression war with him to maintain a level of composure, Jongdae says carefully, “you keep speaking of this like it is a punishment you are being given, that we both have been assigned, especially myself. It’s not. I agreed to this when I agreed to marry you.” Han’s eyes flicker, the emotion bleeding through into his face, and it paints him as stricken, with a vague hue of unrelenting hunger. That hunger has Jongdae’s chest warm, the soft twist in his gut writhing in approval. “I knew what our marriage would entail, and I agreed to it, to this. I am not resigning myself to anything.” The breaths that pass between Han’s lips are shorter, and he markedly keeps his eyes trained on Jongdae’s face. Intrigued, Jongdae shifts his hips minutely, and watches with satisfaction as Han’s jaw tenses. “Are you?”

If Jongdae had expected an answer, which he had, he is disappointed. Rather than oblige him with a response, Han rolls off of him completely, leaving him feeling cold and with a vague sense of rejection. Though still within reach, Han has curled himself away from Jongdae once more, his exposed back somehow distant despite how Jongdae can simply reach out and brush his fingers against the warm skin. It is clearly a display of refusal, the silence to Jongdae’s question furthering that. While it neither confirms nor denies the matter of whether Han is resigning himself, Jongdae cannot help but admit to himself that considering his behavior and conversation, Han is viewing their coupling as him resigning to Jongdae what he would rather be doing willingly with another. 

That reality leaves Jongdae feeling cold, any of the warmth and relative interest that may have grown over the course of the evening and his efforts to persuade Han into consummating their union to allow them some respite from the pressures around them fading quickly. Vaguely, he wonders if the same is true for Han, if his bringing up the matter had destroyed any of the physical interest Han had displayed in himself earlier, and the notion brings an even further chill to Jongdae, threatening him to fall victim to a sadness and sense of futility which he has spent so long avoiding. 

Turning to look at the figure his husband makes on the bed, Jongdae hesitates a moment before once more sliding closer. Though a part of him wants to leave Han be, to ignore him and the multitude of issues his own behavior has caused them, Jongdae, in this moment, allows himself to be weak, and the subtle comfort of at least lying with someone offers at least some small comfort when faced with lying alone in the same bed as the man who is supposed to learn to care for him as Jongdae hoped he would. 

“May I lie with you?” he asks quietly, half expected to be rebuffed. 

Silence greets Jongdae’s request, and Han does not move. He is not asleep, Jongdae knows as much from having spent so much time with Han when he was actually at rest, and Jongdae resigns himself to lie distant in the bed, somehow more lost and frustrated and futile than he had begun the day. Carefully pulling his hair to the side and plaiting it to keep it neat, Jongdae lies down, facing Han’s back and at the very least resigning not to relinquish the space he has gained between them, where the distance doesn’t feel quite so oppressive and he now knows the feeling of Han’s willing and seeking mouth against his own, the pliant give of his wrist at Jongdae’s slightest suggestion, as if secretly whispering _’there is more than what I say’_. 

Letting out a long and somewhat defeated sigh, Jongdae closes his eyes, hoping to at least have some rest before he must face the speculation and disapproval the following day after it is revealed with were not successful in consummating their marriage. Then, there is the soft familiar noise of Han shifting in the bed, and Jongdae opens his eyes when he feels Han’s fingers close around his wrist, pulling on him. “Just this,” Han’s voice mutters, as if nervous to say even that much as he pulls Jongdae’s arm over him, urging him closer until Jongdae is almost laying against Han’s back. It’s warm, and it feels warmer when Han rests Jongdae’s hand against his abdomen, fingers pushed to splay against his lower ribs as Han settles his hand over Jongdae’s and rests. “Stay only like this, nothing more,” Han’s voice is so soft, so quiet, and Jongdae closes his eyes, breathing in a shaking breath as he settles against Han’s back.

It feels almost pitiful, to find such relief and comfort in this small display of acceptance and affection, yet Jongdae feels his own fears and futility melt somewhat as Han finally relaxes against him, the tension in his shoulders easing gently with each breath Jongdae feels against his chest. Han doesn’t pull away when Jongdae curls closer, letting his legs slip to find Han’s and nudge closer, the warmth welcome, consoling after enduring so much blatant rejection at his efforts. It is slow, a small step after so many defeats, but Jongdae cannot bring himself to care as the relief of finally achieving a willing and warm embrace settles along his weary self. 

“Only this,” Jongdae says, his lips brushing against the skin of Han’s shoulders, the smell of his soaps lingering so faintly on his skin. He smells of jasmine and tea, and Jongdae finds himself smiling even as the warmth of their bodies begins to lull him to sleep. It is not a success, but it is something, and Jongdae relents to at least allow himself a small joy when he has so few. 

Han’s hand briefly squeezes his, and it feels like solidarity, a notion that brings both relief and despair to the back of Jongdae’s throat. He breathes, as for now, that is all that he can do. It is the best he can do; breathe and hold on to what is.


	14. Chapter 14

There is a weight that hangs in the air the following morning. Rising before the servants, Jongdae and Han dress themselves in the robes from the night prior, though Han noticeably less skillfully than Jongdae. Seeing him struggle with the material and the ties, Jongdae almost reaches out for him to offer assistance, but keeps his hands tucked into his sleeves, the notion of touching Han somehow feeling unwelcome, perhaps a lingering effect from the evening before, as if their closeness, Han’s skin hot under Jongdae’s touch, had overstepped the lines of poorly maintained agreement between them. The avoidance Han displays this morning is clearly different from the variety he had displayed before, which had been out of disregard and refusal of him, shunning his company out of spite and his own selfish behavior. 

This morning it appears as if Han is wary of Jongdae, of his very presence, and on edge, almost oversensitive to Jongdae being in the same room as him. 

It is, somehow, a far worse feeling than Jongdae had experienced prior when Han had avoided him for other reasons, especially as now, just as before, he had done nothing to warrant such a response. He had not harmed Han, and had only done as he believed most effective for them to proceed with their relationship. For Han to appear so affected by this, especially when Jongdae knows that the news of their lack of success will spread as soon as it is discovered with fervor, Jongdae finds his own complacency significantly compromised. 

The arrival of the servants provides a welcome distraction, though it does nothing to assuage Jongdae’s growing apprehension and dread for when the council hears their disappointing news. That morning, Xingxing and Yuna once more arrive to take care of Han, easily eliciting a calmer and relieved version of him, while Chittaphon and Guanheng examine and address Jongdae. 

“I am amazed your braid lasted the night,” Chittaphon remarks lightly as his fingers comb out Jongdae’s hair. “I had thought we might find you still abed. Once more you surprise us, appearing so composed. We had thought you would rest for the majority of the day after what must have been an eventful night.”

“Remarkably, we both appear to find ourselves invigorated,” Jongdae tries to reply as lightly as he can, attempting a smile as well but it is brittle on his lips. Turning to look at his servant, Jongdae’s heart plummets when he catches the expression on his face; Chittaphon knows, knew perhaps as soon as he had entered the room and taken them in, that regardless of what Jongdae says, no productivity took place during the night. “I suppose,” Jongdae continues, his throat dry. “We are indeed a suitable match for one another.”

“How fortunate,” Guanheng says, though his voice is more of what Jongdae had feared, the derision and disappointment lacing his tone hard to ignore. The way Guanheng looks at him appears almost resentful, as if the servant holds him accountable for not having bedded Han through the night. “I expect we may hear an announcement then in the following weeks if it was so-“ his fingers twitch as they tie up the robes around Jongdae’s collar, “vigorous.”

“Of course, you would be the first we’d report to upon such a discovery, considering your role in the palace,” Jongdae’s sarcastic remark slips out from him before he can stop himself, but the flare of anger at the servant’s remarks is hard to repress. Glancing across the room to further ignore his servant, Jongdae finds Xingxing and Yuna remaining, tiding up the room, but Han to be gone. “Where is he?”

“Your grace,” Yuna bows, and Jongdae blinks, his own tongue sounding unfamiliar upon his ears as he had been surrounded by Pianjian words and speech for so many days on end. “The prince was summoned early to a council meeting, to discuss a few concerning matters.”

“I see.” The weight that had been with Jongdae upon waking sinks deeper into his belly, making it slightly hard to breathe. Han had left early with no word to him about his preoccupation and, though Jongdae knows better than to invest himself in such small things, it impresses upon him the feeling of being run from, as if Han had fled the room and his presence. “I assume I will see him for the mid day meal then.”

“There are meetings all day, your grace,” Yuna says, bowing once more. “It is expected that you rest for the remainder of the day, though Master Wu is available should you desire to continue with your lessons. Of course, your condition is of the highest importance, and if you would prefer-“

“I’d like to study with Master Wu,” Jongdae says, feeling almost desperate for the distraction. Though it remains to be exhausting and strenuous to study with the scholar, if Jongdae were forced to remain in repose for the day without respite from his own thoughts and growing concerns, turning the night prior over and over in his mind, he may go mad. “Please inform him I will be expecting him in the tea room when he is prepared.”

Bowing, Yuna retreats from the room as Guanheng and Chittaphon finish with dressing Jongdae and turning down the room. “Are you sure it is best if Master Wu to resume his teaching in the tea room?” Guanheng asks, glancing at Jongdae as he folds up the robes from the night before. “After all, wouldn’t you be more comfortable-“

“I see no reason why not,” Jongdae retorts. Of course, it would be more cumbersome for Master Wu to bring all of his materials for study with him as he teaches Jongdae, but the prospect of traveling through the palace compound this early when Jongdae has yet to steele himself for whatever response may await him is too daunting. Time, though not infinite, is all he wants to at the very least prepare himself for the reprimand and consequence which surely awaits. 

“As you wish, your grace,” Guanheng quickly consents. Without another word, he retreats to the tea room, snatching at Chittaphon’s sleeve to drag him along as well and hastily exiting the room. 

Left in silence, Jongdae closes his eyes, allowing himself a brief moment to try to compose himself. Despite having slept for a significant period the night before, he feels tired, worn, and stretched too thin beneath his skin. It is the same feeling he had after being on the road years ago, during one of the territory disputes as the war waged on endlessly around them. He had been sent as part of a smaller military mission to reclaim certain land near a disputed border that was constantly compromised and under attack. The issue was supposed to have been resolved within a few weeks, yet the conflict had continued, with sudden complications arising one after the other, and by the time the conflict was finally resolved and the territory secured, Jongdae had been surviving on scraps with the rest of his troops, their supplies cut off so often they survived on local game and foraged goods. 

Though the circumstances are drastically different, that feeling of being worn down, of constantly being stretched too thin and with the pressure of completing his duties and maintaining his composure in the face of those looking to him for solidity is harrowingly similar. In truth, the situation feels perhaps less favorable, considering none of those looking to Jongdae are doing so with what appears to be respect and trust, instead the sentiment being of suspicion and skepticism. There is little time to escape, and before long Jongdae rouses himself from his thoughts and musings to ready himself for his lessons, fully aware that he must remain in good form despite what he suspects awaits him when he once more enters the general flow of life at the palace. 

The soft knock to his door has Jongdae taking one last breath and then fixing a small smile to his face, preparing to dedicate his attention to his studies for the remainder of the morning as best as he can. Standing and moving to open the door to admit Master Wu and move to the tea room, Jongdae finds himself shocked to find Lady Song standing outside instead, her retainers and another woman who appears to also belong to the court accompanying her.

“Your grace,” Lady Song says, with a formal bow and an amicable smile. The woman behind her bows slightly lower, and Jongdae returns the gesture with no small amount of confusion. “I trust that we are not interrupting you too terribly.”

“No,” Jongdae concedes, stepping from the room to give the women his attention. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit.”

“Allow me to introduce Lady Guan,” Lady Song gestures to her company, who smiles faintly at Jongdae. “She has been absent for many months, and thus you were unable to meet with her when traveling from Goyangi. She occupies one of the seats of the court, her family a relative power in the council. I thought it better you two met outside of the council chambers, as often it is difficult to become familiar and hold amicable conversation in that stuffy atmosphere.” 

“Much appreciated,” Jongdae thanks her, smiling and turning to Lady Guan. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Guan.”

“The pleasure is mine, your grace,” she replies, offering a small nod to him. “I admit I have been curious to who our prince would finally wed, though I extend my sympathies that, as of yet, he proves impossible to tame.” The way she says it and the expression on her face has lead sinking into the pit of Jongdae’s stomach, whatever weight that had woken pressing into his emotions and psyche returning with vigor. Looking between both of the women before him, Jongdae realizes that their presence is no courtesy visit, but rather a confirmation of whatever information has already passed through the palace.

Confirmation that Jongdae and Han were unsuccessful in their duties the night prior, that Jongdae had failed. Though Jongdae wonders vaguely if Han is being met with similar reprimand for his own refusal to bed his husband, the truth that, in so far as he has observed, the prince escapes primary blame settles in ugly blatancy. 

“Of course, I am sure we can expect good news in the future,” Lady Song continues, reaching out to clasp Jongdae’s hands. “After all, you are quite a determined match for our prince, are you not? And the prince is kind, even if he is slow to display such antics. I am sure you will overcome your reservations soon and recognize how important we all consider your presence.”

The smile on her face has that sickened feeling sinking deeper into Jongdae’s chest, and he finds his throat too dry and tight to offer a proper reply, instead resolving to nod to her and hold back the torrent of emotions that rise within him. Guilt, blame, frustration, and helplessness begin to crawl up inside of his chest, and he forces himself to take a breath and swallow down the bile that stings at the back of his throat. “My ladies,” he begins, trying to maintain eye contact. “Thank you for your kind words and support. It is my hope that circumstances will also turn for the better and I may-“ Jongdae’s voice falters. From the distance, he can see Master Wu lingering along the corridor, a concerned look about him. “That I may prove to the council and citizens of Pianjian my devotion and desire to embrace this country and my husband as fully as I am able.”

“Well spoken, your grace,” Lady Guan says, her eyes glinting and smile coy. “Devotion, indeed.”

“If I may bed your pardon,” Master Wu interjects, stepping up and dropping into a low bow. “Am I mistaken in believing our lessons were to take place this morning?”

“Not at all,” Jongdae says, extremely grateful to the scholar for rescuing him from the ladies of the court. “My ladies, if you will excuse me.”

“Of course, your grace,” Lady Song says, her eyes bright and sharp. “We will continue this conversation another time, when you are not previously engaged.”

“It was a pleasure making your acquaintance,” Lady Guan says, bowing one last time to Jongdae before she allows herself to be swept away, following at the fluttering hem of Lady Song’s swiftly retreating steps.  


. . . 

  
By early afternoon, a small storm front has rolled in over the capital city, blocking out the blazing heat of the sun and shrouding the sky in a gray light, the shade condensing as a light wind picks up and whips through the streets and corridors, tugging at the flags hung high upon the ramparts. The clouds threaten rain, though none falls even as the billowing storm descends to hover over the city like an ominous spectator to the goings on of the citizens down below. The lessons of that morning ended later than typical, and, unenthused to return to the audience of his servants and those expecting him in conventional locations, Jongdae steals from the tea room and along the corridors to the small training courtyard, hoping for some respite.

Despite the lessons offering some small distraction from the deluge of negative thought and tension that has laid upon him since waking, Jongdae still finds himself in considerable distress, agitated and desperate for a proper distraction. He requires focus, and beyond that of mental exercise and devotion, rather something physical and demanding of his entire being. Fortunately, as Jongdae hurries through the corridors, tying back his sleeves and grateful his robes today are not overly ostentatious, he encounters few passersby. Those he does encounter are servants, their eyes widening in shock before they turn away, hastening to hide their expressions of judgement and reproach. Jongdae remains composed, his posture high and regal as he moves swiftly, seeking the freedom of practice in a field where he at least commands some control and power. 

The small courtyard is a welcome sight when Jongdae reaches it, and he hastens to enter despite knowing his presence there would certain incite the anger of the council. Within the courtyard, the sands are in disarray, kicked and disturbed from their typical fine raked condition, and two figures dance about one another in a combative display of deadly elegance. Despite seeing he would not have the freedom to practice alone and in security of being undisturbed, Jongdae finds himself consoled in the display, watching the figure of Hyejin easily match the fighting skill and talent of General Huang. Their styles are dramatically different, yet equally powerful and effective, as they appear to learn and speak to one another between deadly blows of their training staffs. Though the staff is not the preferred weapon of Hyejin, Jongdae still finds himself in adoration of her skill and competency in a weapon she does not favor, as it rivals even the greatest masters. 

Apparently taking notice of his presence, the two warriors pause, stepping away from each other as they turn to him, weapons lowering and faces expectant. “Your grace,” Hyejin greets him, dropping into a low bow and full respects. General Huang bows as well, though with less formality and stiffer posture. “May we be of service to you?”

“I was not informed you would be using the training grounds today,” General Huang says, stepping forward to Jongdae and holding his staff imposingly. “Was it not decided that you would remain in rest for the day after last night’s bedding?” The implication and look in the General’s eyes tell Jongdae that the other man knows the truth, must have been informed earlier that day, and the fiery glint in his eye does nothing to persuade Jongdae to think otherwise. “Surely it is unfitting that you be taxing yourself so strenuously so soon after. Would it not effect the chance of conception, your exhausting yourself in this manner?”

“I am perfectly well enough to maintain my own level of health and strength, General, though I shall appreciate your clear concern on the matter,” Jongdae retorts, stepping onto the disturbed sands and staring up at the General defiantly. “I would ask that my guard and I had some time to practice our skills.”

“Your grace,” Hyejin consents, offering a slightly smile, though her expression looks uneasy. 

“I am afraid I must forbid it,” General Huang says, casting a stern look at Hyejin. “She has other business to attend to and I cannot spare her talent and offer special favors.”

“Then I will train alone,” Jongdae persists, frustrated once more and desperate for something in his hands. A sword, a bow, a spear, anything with which to execute his tumult of emotions and anxieties. “I am sure you have a field for where your archers practice, as well as an armory where I might properly equip myself.” The hunger in his fingers for the feathered fletching along the shaft, the tension that builds in his arms, back, and core at the weight of the bow in his hands, and the loaded anticipation and precision that comes with taking proper aim with respect to wind and the flight of the arrow to its final destination. Jongdae swallows, meeting the dark and disapproving eyes of General Huang.

“Hyejin,” the General calls out, his eyes remaining on Jongdae. “You are dismissed from evaluation. Report to Wang for patrol.” Hyejin, bowing in respect, hastens away with only a fleeting glance back at Jongdae. With his only friend gone, Jongdae feels a thrill of fear crawl up his spine when faced with the General alone. It is an unreasonable response, considering if the General harmed him, it would result in consequence for himself rather than Jongdae, but still, the fear lingers. Jongdae does not like feeling afraid. 

“Was that necessary?” Jongdae asks, hearing a note of derision in his own voice.

“It was,” General Huang says tersely. “And I must advise you to stop coming here to train, especially when it has not been approved and arranged by the council. Regardless of your own wishes, it is inappropriate and stressful for the council and the crown prince-“

“Stressful how?” Jongdae demands, hot anger building in his chest. A wind sweeps down from the gathered clouds and whips at the edge of their robes, stinging Jongdae’s skin where it is exposed. “Stressful in that they expected me to waste away in my rooms? I will not lie about like some lazy pet.”

“No, I assume you would not,” General Huang says, voice slightly quieter as he looks down at Jongdae. “Regardless, I will not allow you to train here alone, or expose your antics to others in the fields.”

“Then you must spar with me,” Jongdae challenges, desperate for something, anything to do. The constant restriction and inability to do anything, regardless of whether it is what he is supposed to do or not, is beginning to suffocate him, driving him mad. “Otherwise I will continue to perform my own training alone, regardless of where.”

The challenge is clearly heard by Huang, and his eyes widen marginally at Jongdae’s threat. He appears to contemplate for a brief moment declining, before he lets out a long breath and gives a short nod. “Very well,” he relents, before swiftly taking a starting stance and facing Jongdae, palms open and ready. Without further ado, Jongdae settles in opposition, body tense and ready for an attack, his nerves and senses humming with the desire for something to unleash his pent up vexation on. 

The attack comes swift, with very little indication from Huang about his intention and Jongdae struggles to deflect the strike in time, blocking swiftly with his right arm as Huang cuts towards his face. He steps back, leaning away from a second hit from Huang as he strikes forward towards Huang’s side, slipping so easily into combat he loses the hectic state of his mind almost instantly. It is so liberating to be forced so intensely into the focus and demanding practice of combat, where even the slightest distraction from the fight can lead to immediate demise, and Jongdae has no energy to spare for the other issues in his life.

It is grueling, trying to maintain pace with General Huang, and yet completely and utterly freeing. His body strains, his muscles still in a state of disuse and poor conditioning considering his lack of recent activity, yet the motions and movements hold their strength in him, his body so accustomed to the practice of the steps and forms that the heated stain in his flesh feels comforting rather than painful. 

“Stop!” suddenly shatters the relative calm that had just begun to settle over Jongdae, his breathing rapid and settling hot in his chest as he began to lose himself in the match with the General. Turning, slightly breathless and his chest once more filling with frustrated disquiet, Jongdae watches as Han hastens towards them, a distempered expression on his face. 

“Your grace,” General Huang greets in a bow, immediately stepping back from Jongdae. 

“What were you thinking?” Han snaps at the General, his tone laced with anger. “He is in no condition to be exerting himself so fiercely.”

Bristling at the remark, Jongdae turns sharply to his husband with a formidable glare. “I believe I am perfectly able-“

“I need to speak with you,” Han interrupts him, his voice clipped and demanding. He turns to Jongdae and steps into his space, so close that Jongdae instinctively takes a step back. With one final glance back at the general, he reaches out and with surprising gentleness takes Jongdae’s arm. “Please, walk with me.”

Wanting to protest but apprehensive about how it would be received, by either Han or Huang, Jongdae swallows and relents, allowing for Han to pull him to his side and lead him from the courtyard. He says nothing, focusing on remaining close to Han’s side and surreptitiously observing his husband as they make their way through the palace compound through the winding corridors. The path that Han leads him along is far more convoluted than the way Jongdae typically travels, winding and twisting in and out of the open air corridors with his feet silent over the wooden floor, his hand ever-present against Jongdae’s arm as he guides him. The line of tension that had been rigid across his back lessens as they walk, and the temper that lingered about his features wanes, Han calming down slightly the farther they are from the training grounds. 

The relenting in his temper has Jongdae wondering if perhaps he had been searching for Jongdae, and his lack of presence had caused him stress. Furthermore, the notion that Han would actively seek him out so intently sparks a light of curiosity in Jongdae, wondering if perhaps Han’s disposition would have shifted slightly, if he has been made more willing since experiencing the contempt and disapproval following them since the morning and their relative lack of success. 

Finally stepping out in the gardens, Han relents, his hand slipping from Jongdae’s arm to his wrist and leading him gently among the paths of stone and moss. He appears much more at ease, and lets out a long breath, chancing a look at Jongdae that holds none of the fire it had when he had stormed into the training courtyard. Yet, despite his proclamation of requiring Jongdae’s attention, he says nothing, simply turning to look out at the garden and the softly running stream, his fingers lingering against Jongdae’s still rapid pulse. 

“I assume you required my audience to discuss matters that the council informed you of this morning,” Jongdae proposes. In an effort to incite conversation, perhaps to discuss the matter that, despite their direction, they had yet to successfully bed one another, Jongdae leans himself closer to Han, impressing his willingness to discuss the matter at hand.

“Is it so bold to assume that I wanted to spend time with my husband alone?” Han asks, turning to him with a poor expression of surprise. 

Staring at him and slightly taken aback, Jongdae refrains from scoffing at Han’s poor attempt at levity. “Yes, actually, it is too bold to assume,” he retorts. At the flicker in Han’s countenance, Jongdae realizes the true reason Han had demanded his attention; he had wanted to stop him from training. “You have had plenty of time to spend with me alone, in fact all of the evening past was time specifically alone-“

“I did not mean-“

“Intimately?” Jongdae’s temper rises once more. “Clearly, all you can tolerate from my company is in muted silence where I am not allowed the freedom to be my own person, and any pursuit I have towards intimacy shared between us is rebuked as you are not interested-“

“I am,” Han interrupts him, the same haste and almost uncontrolled responsiveness in him as Jongdae had witnessed when they had fought. The words, spoken so vehemently that their honesty could not be doubted, fade the words upon Jongdae’s own tongue into agitated confusion.

“You are,” Jongdae states bluntly, and, in a challenge, twists his hand out of Han’s fingers to grasp at Han instead, tugging against his wrist in defiance. There is a brief moment of conflict in Han’s expression before he steps forward swiftly. His movements, conjoined with Jongdae’s own temperament, nearly result in Jongdae reacting defensively, blocking Han and potentially hitting him as he suddenly reaches out with clear intent. It is only through his own delayed reaction and wavering judgement that Jongdae instead stills, and himself tenses as Han steps into him and kisses him without warning. 

It is by no means elegant, and while Jongdae represses the urge to respond to his own instincts and push Han away, the fight in him still lingering, he remains still, allowing the embrace. Unlike Jongdae’s own behavior, Han had not asked, and instead took from him, and while the behavior further incites anger in Jongdae, the sudden surge of proactive behavior from Han leaves Jongdae curious, and not slightly desperate to see if it bears the authenticity that will allow for some relief from their precarious situation. The lack of resistance apparently encourages Han, as he presses forward, his actions and mouth overzealous and without giving Jongdae time to respond as he leans closer and slips a hand over Jongdae’s shoulder to cup at the back of his neck. 

Forcing himself to relax, Jongdae allows the kiss, taking his own composure and relenting into the embrace, yet finding himself in a mess of incoordination despite the intent to plead for physical affection. Han, for lack of a better explanation, kisses in the same way that he fights; too much emotion and power and a significant lack of skill. Yet his mouth is a traitor, and Jongdae can taste the determination as he allows for the kiss to deepen, feeling Han take a sharp breath as he does so. Han kisses too fast, too hard and appears to be searching, as if fighting Jongdae in the kiss to achieve more, perhaps the same effect from the night before when Jongdae had witnessed his own pleasure at Jongdae’s lead. Instead of stopping him, Jongdae reaches up, carefully taking Han’s face in his hands, and holding him, drawing him in to a long kiss, easing some of the coarse and desperate edge out from between their lips into a soft and lingering touch. Trapped in Jongdae’s hands, Han lets out a soft shiver, his fingers tensing and curling gently at the nape of Jongdae’s neck, threading into his hair carefully. 

When Jongdae kisses Han again, coaxing Han to his mouth, the prince is supple in his hands, mouth chasing after his and his touch willingly responsive. There is resistance still, some of the edge still in Han’s touch, his pressure to try to hasten the kiss, and Jongdae tries to glean what he can from those touches, to understand their origin. Surprisingly, though similar to the night before, Han is remarkably willing under his touch, following his lead when Jongdae begins to guide the kiss, slowing it and allowing for softer and gentler touches that last and are fulfilling rather than rushed and intense. As Jongdae carefully slides his hands back, catching them around the back of Han’s neck and holding gently, Han allows it, leaning into the touch as Jongdae teases with soft brushes of his fingers to the skin just under Han’s collar. 

Venturing to step closer, Jongdae eliminates the last space between them, their chests almost touching. One of Han’s hands drops, trying to balance, and slips to Jongdae’s side, sliding against his ribs before stilling, Han stiffening slightly as he realizes the touch. Curious, Jongdae presses a gentle permissive kiss to his mouth, chaste and simple in invitation and is further surprised when Han responds, catching his mouth once again as his hand slips more confidently to Jongdae’s waist and settles there, almost pulling him closer. The hand at the back of Jongdae’s neck curves, tilting Jongdae’s mouth closer as Han becomes slightly bolder, mimicking the kisses Jongdae had given before. 

It almost appears as if Han began this as a way of asserting himself, hiding admitting himself verbally in a simple ploy of intimacy to earn silence and cessation of inquiry, but now-

Now, as Han’s hand slips lower, fingers curling around Jongdae’s hip, his physical reactions and behaviors appear to betray far more of himself. Jongdae, though pleased at the apparent willingness Han displays to the subtle guidance and competitive nature of this variety of intimacy, finds himself eager to take advantage of this new development and information. Heedless of potential observation, Jongdae breaks from the kiss for a moment, earning a hazed and dark look from Han’s flushed face before he leans in to kiss at Han’s jaw, easily tilting his head to the side to draw his lips across the soft sensitive skin of his neck and the frantically fluttering pulse that teases just under his tongue.

Then, quite as suddenly as it had been instigated, Han’s hand at his hip tightens and he pulls away, forcing distance between them once more. Face flushed and eyes glazed, Han pants at him, his lips swollen and wet. “Enough,” he says, voice rougher than Jongdae is familiar with hearing it. Yet despite his words, Han’s hand remains firmly at Jongdae’s hip, fingers digging gently into the flesh as his other hand lingers at Jongdae’s neck, his thumb slowly stroking along the side of his throat. 

“Of course,” Jongdae says, dropping his hands to rest upon Han’s shoulders, maintaining the distance as he watches Han. They are in plain view to anyone who enters the garden, and while Jongdae is interested in what inspired this intimacy and level of affection after Han’s avoidance of him that morning, he’s not about to object to the cooperation and potential shift in Han’s behavior towards a more attainable and relevant goal. “We should reserve our energy for more productive times, perhaps this evening, if the preparations have been arranged once more for us.”

Those words appear to unsettle Han, and he swallows thickly, his hands finally pulling back from Jongdae’s body and falling limply to his sides. “Of course,” he says, though his voice is distant, his expression pulling back and closing off, the emotive ease and transparency once more escaping Jongdae’s grasp, and once more he is left feeling cold and unsuccessful. “If you are willing.”

“I am your husband,” Jongdae reminds him firmly, attempting to impress the full implications of that into his voice.

“I shall-” Han steps back. The sudden disconnect, the shift in the air between them so suddenly, cold as the wind that stirs the tips of the trees in the gardens as the storm threatens to break, billows into Jongdae and leaves him with the sudden urge to reach out once more for Han. If for no other reason than to maintain the new intimacy, yet in all truth, Jongdae finds his impulses driven by the desire simply for comfort, to find with Han some level of agreement and companionship within the dramatic swing of their coupling where he may no longer feel so helplessly futile. Yet Han steps back again, remaining just out of reach, even if his eyes linger on Jongdae’s and appear wanting. “I shall ensure that the necessary arrangements are in place.”

Without another word, Han strides from Jongdae, leaving him in the soft sound of the stream as the wind blows cold against heated sensitive skin. The sudden abandonment has Jongdae feeling hollow, confused, and yet further frustrated, wishing that, rather than the sudden display of intimacy, they had been able to have a proper conversation about their current state of affairs and the complex issues that have arisen so rapidly. Instead, Jongdae is left to his own cyclical thoughts once more swimming through his mind endlessly, and he hardly notices when the first drops of rain begin to fall about him, darkening the soft gray stones and washing the world about him in a gentle soothing rain. 

“Your grace will fall ill if you remain in the rain like this,” comes a sudden unexpected voice, and Jongdae turns to look at the speaker. The woman from that morning, Lady Guan, stands to the edge of the garden, a parasol in her hand and held aloft in his direction. She is wearing stricter garments than Jongdae, more similar to the robes Jongdae had worn from his day of sparring with Han in the courtyard and Jongdae finds himself momentarily envious of her. 

“It is only rain,” Jongdae calls to her, though retreats in her direction none the less, welcoming the parasol she presents him. “If rain were enough to weaken me, I would be a poor hope as a protector of the people.”

“A leader does not need to protect the people, only guide them towards the best path and reassure them of their doubts and misgivings,” Lady Guan remarks, a soft smile at the corner of her mouth. She is very beautiful, Jongdae notes, and her eyes light with a subtle wit and charm. Her long hair is piled atop her head in an elaborate bun, a few golden hair pins keeping the arrangement in place. “I am glad to see you and the prince so familiar with one another.” 

With a faint hint of embarrassment, Jongdae realizes she must have witnessed them in the gardens in their brief embrace. While such displays of affection should be accepted within the palace and especially from the couple which everyone is invested in bedding one another as swiftly as possible and producing veritable results, Jongdae still realizes with a small note of self criticism that being caught in such a display makes him somewhat bashful. “A slow budding romance within the fixed course of marriage, I believe is the best way to describe it,” he replies, looking out into the gardens to avoid his faint blush being seen by the Lady.

“An interesting way to describe it, to be sure,” Lady Guan says, stepping back. Down the corridor, Chittaphon and Guanheng stride into view, though their pace slows when they see Lady Guan engaged with Jongdae. “Rather clinical from the man who is living the life many young nobles and noblewomen dream of, having the prince and all his affections entire to yourself.”

“I would not say all of his affections,” Jongdae says without thinking, and then stills, chancing a look at Lady Guan’s reaction. She offers none, her expression poised and that small smile ever-present as she watches him with those eyes that shine with perception. Turning to her and recovering himself, Jongdae finishes, “no husband can ever take away the affection a prince feels for his people and his country.”

“Well spoken,” Lady Guan compliments him. “You may yet last through the ridicule and scorn of the council and court.”

“I am attempting to,” Jongdae admits, and finds himself relaxing somewhat as her smile deepens, reaching to her eyes for the first time since he’d met her. “Though finding friends I think will be my hardest trial once I manage to gain favor with the council.” 

“Perhaps,” Lady Guan muses, and nods to Chittaphon and Guanheng at last. The two servants hasten towards them, Chittaphon lingering behind with his head bowed. He appears slightly smaller than Jongdae had last perceived him, and Guanheng appears somewhat flustered. “You may be surprised.” With that, she bows to him, leaving the distinct impression of implication in her wake, as she takes her leave and retreats along the corridor. 

“Your grace?” Guanheng ventures, examining Jongdae as he watches the lady depart.

“What can you tell me about her?” Jongdae asks, turning to the servants expectantly. 

“Lady Guan?” Guanheng suddenly looks wary, his eyes trained on the corridor. “What do you wish to know?”

The lady had impressed a distinct sense of curiosity, wariness, and mystery to Jongdae, and from her simple conduct and commentary, Jongdae finds himself curious about her, and more importantly, wanting to know more about her and her presence at court. Thus far, Jongdae had been able to encounter most of the members, either on the journey home or since his stay in the palace. Lady Guan is a mystery to him, and until now he had not heard about her and her absence at the palace, a fact which in and of itself is curious to him. 

“Whatever you can tell me,” Jongdae says cleanly, turning and making his way to the baths. “You may tell me what you know while I prepare for this evening.”

“Of course, your grace,” Guanheng says, hastening to keep up.  


. . . 

  
The candles and lamps have been burning for hours, casting long shadows against the walls and offering a sort of intensity when coupled with the light sound of the rain against the roof and outside of the room. Perhaps it only feels like hours since shifu Wang had visited Jongdae and conducted part of the treatment followed by his now customary elixir as Jongdae has become absorbed in the soft rhythmic noise that fills the room, yet the passage of time cannot be avoided as it shows in how low the candles have begun to burn.

Similar to the night before, Jongdae had bathed, prepared, and waited for his husband, this time in their room for the prior discussed commencement for the night. After a prolonged stretch of waiting, Yuna had ventured within to inform Jongdae that the prince was caught late in a council meeting, unable to return to him in a timely fashion, but would hasten. The hours stretched by, and Jongdae found himself unable to distract from his growing uneasiness at Han’s prominent absence. Had the events from the garden been misunderstood? Had Jongdae perhaps acted inappropriately with Han, gathering further scrutiny and consequential reprimand that Han now faced from the council alone? 

The worst notion was one Jongdae tried to avoid, that Han was once more avoiding him, and the brief encounter in the garden simply a convoluted performance to further twist and break Jongdae’s resolve. 

Finally, exhausted and watching as some of the candles burned themselves into nothing, Jongdae retreated to the bed, letting his hair down from the neat pinned knot Chittaphon had arranged and hastily plaiting it. Laying in the relative dim light of the lantern and remaining candles, he strived to remain awake, to listen for any footsteps outside the room announcing Han’s return. The long deprivation and wait had long ago extinguished the frustration and anger that had begun in Jongdae’s chest, building until it burned out after too long a silence. All that remains now is the hollow feeling of abandonment, futility, and the hollow sensation of rejection.

Rolling onto his side and pressing into the linens of the bed, Jongdae closes his eyes, focusing breathing evenly and remaining conscious, though sleep presses heavily with the rhythm of the rain. Alone and with nothing but silence for company, Jongdae pushes aside the faint gnaw of hunger in his chest for something else, something warm, a night like this without the cold, instead warm hands and soft touches, where the person who lays with him wants him there, wants his embrace, and where Jongdae can learn to love before he must perform. 

Of course, life has never been relenting to Jongdae, and reality is rarely as it is in dreams, and so Jongdae pushes aside those sentiments, returning his mind and focus to the present situation. Things are rarely as perfect as the imaginings of those who have the luxury to dream of something better, and Jongdae knows that, despite what he may feel, his life could be far worse and his problems much more life threatening. As another candle flickers and extinguishes, Jongdae relents and admits defeat, resigning himself to another day of reproachful looks and poorly hidden gossip behind hands, of judgmental stares and disappointed lines to mouths. Another day of such living won’t kill him, and he refuses to lose more sleep over an issue he cannot resolve on his own.

No problem is ever made by one single person, and Jongdae resolves to address the matter swiftly and clearly at the next available opportunity, whether Han is willing to discuss it or not. There is no battle Jongdae has fought that he has not won, and he isn’t about to accept defeat now.


	15. Chapter 15

The following day, the palace appears to be in a distracted yet amicable mood, the servants all chattering like sparrows as they flit between their tasks and cast each other looks that indicate more chatter than they permit themselves. The court that wanders through the campus also appears to be in lighter mood, though the full explanation appears just out of reach. 

Of course, distraction by this sudden bustle is not permitted for his lessons, which have progressed beyond the limitation of the tea room and the study to instead explore the surrounding area. Jongdae and Master Wu have decided, as the weather is fair and the heat comfortable, to take a walk about the palace compound while Master Wu instructs the prince, having Jongdae recite material and carry on proper conversation in correct form and usage of the new material introduced at the beginning of the lesson. At every moment when Jongdae’s attention is drawn to the servants and retainers, the court ladies and men who pass by in their fine robes and elegant draped sleeves with high delicately embroidered collars, Master Wu is quick to snap him back to attention, a gentle and pointed touch to his elbow. Any conversation Jongdae may have otherwise found himself tempted to listen to and decipher the topic of is dissuaded as he instead is told to repeat with perfect pronunciation the names of the various flowers and colors and appropriate landscape of the world around him. 

“Remind me why this information is important?” Jongdae asks, sighing as he once more fails to properly describe one of the flowers carefully painted along a wall tapestry that they pass. 

“Using language is more than just understanding words, it is comprehending and utilizing the beauty that the phrases and terms may elicit, especially within the court,” Master Wu explains to him.

“While I understand the sentiment, such a defined and extravagant use hardly seems to be the most useful study of language itself,” Jongdae mutters, exhausted and somewhat frustrated with his own lack of progress on the material.

“Such concentrated study would be incredibly beneficial in gatherings of court and council,” Master Wu says, slightly taken aback as he pauses in their walk. “After all, one cannot create poetry to share and celebrate among peers without the proper foundation of language and the subtle nuances therein.”

“And I am to be heavily skilled in the creation of poetry,” Jongdae states skeptically.

For a moment, Master Wu appears to observe him, his gaze raking up and down Jongdae’s figure in keen examination. “Have you never been to a gala as they are hosting tonight?”

“I have been to many festivities and banquets,” Jongdae says, though frowns at the mention of such an event so rapidly approaching. That morning had held no news of such an event being hosted, the servants simply dressing Jongdae in his favored robes as Han was called away to another early morning council meeting without explanation or illumination as to his absence the previous night. The sudden delivery of this news makes Jongdae uneasy, the sense of having information kept from him broadening. 

“Yes, I assumed as much considering your position in the court of Goyangi, but this will be your first gala in Pianjian.” The look on Master Wu’s face is somewhat perplexed, as if he had assumed Jongdae would be aware of this gala in question, and the indiction that Jongdae clearly had not been informed appears confusion for the scholar. Indeed, Jongdae, upon realizing this to be the cause of whatever perceived gossip and frivolity that surround the palace compound that morning finds himself in a similar state of perplexity, though with perhaps a degree more of malice accompanying it. 

“Of course,” Jongdae attempts to recover, masking whatever anger and irritation he may feel at having been made a fool of for not knowing about such a public affair with a smile and a light laugh. “However, I hardly expect that the members of the court and council expect me to perform in the flowers of their language when many assume I hardly speak your language at all. After all, I am the foreigner still, and have yet to affirm my place as a proper member of court.”

The comment appears to trouble Master Wu, as he steps closer with lines of worry forming between his eyes. “You are welcome here, if that is causing distress,” he says, though his eyes do not rest on Jongdae, instead flitting about the corridors and open halls of the compound. “And despite their misgivings, the members of court will learn to appreciate and accept your skills.”

“That’s very heartwarming,” Jongdae says, though the feeling of hollow skepticism remains burrowed in his chest. “I will remember that tonight. Perhaps it will give me the confidence to engage in the discourse that may develop over the evening.”

As the day progresses and his lessons draw to their closure, Jongdae observes the obvious changes being made around the court. While none of them apply to the main palace of the compound, they do appear to affect some of the other quarters, and the gardens, where Jongdae had expected to take his afternoon meal, are sanctioned off as they are prepared for the festivities of that evening. Rather than enjoying the outdoor scenery, Jongdae retires to the tea room, where Guanheng and Chittaphon have laid out a meal for himself and Han, Yuna and Xingxing assisting with small nods in Jongdae’s direction. Despite Jongdae attempting to ask his servants, neither Chittaphon nor Guanheng are particularly forthcoming.

“We were simply told to prepare you as we have done in the nights past,” Guanheng explains, though the look in his eyes suggests information withheld. “Aside from that, any formal affairs have yet to be properly conveyed to us aside from an appearance this evening at a social event arranged by the council.”

“So there is an event that I am to be present at,” Jongdae confirms.

“You won’t be going alone,” Chittaphon appears more intent on soothing Jongdae’s concerns. 

“You’ll be arriving with me,” Han announces, finally arriving at the room. It is the first time Jongdae has truly been able to take him in since the previous afternoon. The look of him now, his collar hastily untied as Han agitatedly appears to change, has Jongdae slightly taken aback, as Han shows no real acknowledgement of the fact that he has not seen Jongdae in a full day and that the last time they had met had ended rather abruptly. Jongdae swallows, watching his husband toss the outer coat of his robes to the bed with little care, having yet to even look at him.

“Will I?” Jongdae asks finally, considering if he should follow his husband’s lead and disrobe as well. In so far, they have never changed midday without purpose, and to see Han do so now with such significant intent is somewhat concerning. 

“You’re my husband, why wouldn’t you accompany me?” Han asks, finally pausing to give Jongdae his attention. Though he is looking at Jongdae, it is very clear he is doing his best to avoid making eye contact, and Jongdae observes him looking just shy of his eyes, as if unwilling to do so. Or apprehensive. “Regardless, it will be expected that we present together upon arrival, and I have already discussed the conduct of the evening with the council so that-“

“What is this evening, if I may request clarity on the matter,” Jongdae asks. The avoidance in the subtle refusal to meet his eyes has Jongdae’s temper once more creeping back into his veins. The previous day Han had interrupted him from training to pull him to the gardens and kiss him before leaving with no explanation. The night prior Han had refused to allow for their required bedding to commence, despite the urgent pressure that is being put upon them by the council and the nature of their marriage. Now, as Han greets him for the first time that day, Han is once more avoiding him, albeit in the subtlest of ways, yet still enough that it ignites Jongdae’s frustration at the other man. “I was unawares until only a few hours ago that we were doing anything more than once more attempting to bed one another, or is that simply implied now for every evening we spend together regardless of unannounced social engagements?”

That seems to finally get Han’s attention, as the prince stiffens and his eyes snap to meet Jongdae’s wide and slightly shocked and he obviously recoils at the intensity in Jongdae’s own gaze. Straightening, Han lets out a long, slow and controlled breath, swallowing to compose himself before he gives Jongdae his full attention. Yuna and Xingxing hover near the back of the room with Guanheng and Chittaphon, silent spectators and passive observers as Han takes a tentative step towards Jongdae. 

“The Wang family heir is hosting a gala at the palace tonight,” Han says, his voice tight but even. “We, as the crown prince and his spouse, are to attend. As I assume you have yet to learn the court families and their relevance beyond the simple understanding you procured while we traveled from Goyangi-“

“Simple,” Jongdae repeats, his tone bordering on vicious. 

“You do not know the people here,” Han cuts him off, his voice rising in severity. It cuts back Jongdae’s own retort, though does not abate his frustration. “You do not understand how they work, what they expect, and, more importantly, how they expect you to be as my companion.”

“Perhaps I would understand more if you took the time-“

“I don’t have time to teach you things like this,” Han snaps, a light curl to his lips. “And so tonight, you will attend with me, you will listen to me, and we will retire early as would be expected of two people in our position.” Finished, Han averts his eyes, a clear line of uneasy tension revealing itself over his shoulders.

It dawns on Jongdae that Han potentially had as little knowledge of this event as he did, and only today was made aware of it. It also is apparent from Han’s tone and behavior that, despite their required presence at this gala, they are also still expected to perform their own duties to one another after their appearance at the social event. Such a clear implication clearly must not have come from Han, himself, but rather the council which repeatedly occupies so much of Han’s time and thoughts. 

The pressure makes Jongdae feel suddenly ill, the inescapable cage that this marriage has slowly become with a companion who is significantly more objective and resentful than Jongdae strives to be for his own protection and safety. Yet this is their circumstance, and Jongdae, knowing there is no arguing things, closes his eyes and evens his breaths, listening to Han resume changing his robes.

“Will the entire court be there?”

“Most likely,” Han confirms, sounding weary now he has delivered the more unpleasant news. “We will be allowed to arrive late, as to arrive at the advent of the gala would distract from the Wang family and their success and deserved attention for hosting the gala.”

“Yet the Gala is being held at the palace compound,” Jongdae reminds, a dry smile making its way over his lips. 

“The Wang family is one of the wealthiest in the court,” Han says, and frowns as he pauses in pulling off the last robe from his shoulders. Letting it fall, he motions to Yuna and Xingxing to assist him. It is only seeing them step into motion Jongdae realizes this is the first time he’s seen Han take care of dressing and undressing by himself. In comparison to Jongdae, Han is awkward, fumbling, and unsure, letting his clothing fall about him without any care as to the damages such treatment could incur on such delicate garments. 

“Wealthy enough to command such an important gala at such late notice,” Jongdae continues to seek for information.

“The gala has been planned for months,” Han corrects, and the statement surprises Jongdae. “Yet it was not to take place until the heir returned from a business matter in the southern provinces. He arrived this morning, along with his host of retainers and companions. He is the one hosting the party, as it is primarily in celebration of his success with Jiongkai and their negotiations.”

“What were the negotiations?” 

“Hardly of much interest to you,” Han almost scoffs, but appears to hold himself back a moment later. Jongdae feels his own shoulders stiffen, wondering briefly if part of living in Pianjian leads to a constant stiffness in ones posture and demeanor as Han displays that is due to the consistent amount of legislative agitation that appears prevalent in the courts. 

“Considering I will be attending an event that is based on the success of these negotiations, they do, in fact, interest me a great deal,” Jongdae says as clearly and resolutely as he can, pleased when Han once more returns his attention to him. “I presume there is time before we are expected where you may expend some time in familiarizing your husband, who will reflect you at this gathering and with whom you are to leave early to bed, with the relevant politics and social expectations of the event at hand. If not, then I will simply have to improvise.”

The threat is clearly heard in Jongdae’s voice, and Han for a moment hosts an air of discontent and rebuttal before he seems to think better of it. “There is time before,” he finally consents. “After our baths, perhaps we may sit for tea. I remember,” he falters, and looks to the bed where his robes from that moment are splayed out in disorder. “You enjoyed it.”

He speaks softly, as if worried Jongdae will refuse this display of attention to him and rebuke him. 

Instead, the subtle gesture is not lost on Jongdae, and, though still frustrated, he finds some of his irritation dissipating. “I did,” Jongdae confirms, and offers Han a small smile when he looks up to him. “That would be appreciated.”

“Good,” Han says. Though there is relief on his face, Jongdae notes with a faint puzzlement how the line of tension and anxiety remains stretched over Han’s shoulders as he allows Yuna and Xingxing to place a simple robe about him and lead him to the baths. Pushing the matter to the back of his mind, Jongdae instead turns his attention to Guanheng and Chittaphon, relenting to the process of being handled for the demands of the court, surrendering for now to the demands of those around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it took me a while to get this update out >n< I promise I have not forgotten, it's just life :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *horrible fake trumpet sounds* Ba da da daaaa!! Finally, an update after, what, three months? Who's counting... (me). Just a short update (proof I haven't forgotten this and/or died) and I will be back with more soon! Thank you so much to everyone who has stayed with this and is still reading. You're all wonderful OuO

The afternoon brings with it a sense of anticipation that descends over the palace compound along with a rolling gentle mist, hovering over the air in a silent blanket of cloud and expectancy. The mist softens all the swift pattering footsteps of the servants as they rush about the palace, hurrying to complete the last minute tasks and preparations for the gala that Jongdae can only imagine may require such haste. Just as the palace begins to shift, the energy transitioning to hosting as the gala presumably begins as the sun begins to set, Jongdae is escorted to the tea room for the ceremony that had been arranged earlier by his husband. The tea room adjacent to their quarters had been cleared of the meal that Jongdae had been looking forward to, and while Jongdae understands the relevance of fasting in regards to the expected coupling for the night between himself and Han, he still dreads continuing through the remainder of the evening with nothing more than a few snacks and tea to provide him energy and strength. He suspects he will need both in order to survive through the night minimally effected.

The tea master has returned, already sitting with Han when Jongdae enters the room, still in his dressing robes, a set to match Han’s own as he takes his seat opposite his husband. The sight invites a small smile to tempt at the corner of Jongdae’s mouth, though he hides it with a slight incline of his head. The clear intention of them both to bathe after this event before their primary presentation at the gala that evening calms Jongdae of any of his own apprehension for the day. Walking forward silently over the grass reed mats, Jongdae settles himself opposite his husband, his hands folding neatly into his lap. 

On the small table at the center of the room, two small ceramic bowls rest and a tiny pot with a thin piece of bamboo beside with a slightly curved end. An iron kettle is heating over a small charcoal fire set within a pot beside the tea master, steam rising lazily from the spout. With him finally present, the ceremony begins, and Jongdae turns his attention to the explanation of the tea master as she once more explains the varietal and origin of the drink that day. 

“This tea is from the upper terraced fields from the southern provinces, this one in particular from the Shengji monastery,” she explains, offering the pot of tea to Jongdae for his inspection. The tea within surprises him, a vibrant green powder that smells grassy and intense.

“It’s a powder,” Jongdae observes. Opposite him, Han bows his head slightly, a faint amused smile gracing his lips. “Forgive me, but I have never seen a tea like this before.”

The tea master smiles at him, accepting the jar as Jongdae passes it back to her. “I am unsurprised,” she says, carefully scooping a small amount into the two ceramic bowls. “It is one of the oldest forms of tea, when cultivators were testing the different ways to consume the leaves of the plant and learn the best way to use it. It was, in fact, the first method of making the tea itself. It was used by healers as a medicine, as the tea boasts to improve health and strengthen the body, filling it with vitality, and clearing toxins and negative energies that cling to our souls.” As she speaks, she carefully takes the heated water kettle and fills each bowl with a small amount of water, just enough fill the bottom and mix with the powdered tea. With a small smile, evidently noticing Jongdae’s intrigue on the subject, she lifts one of the bowls and presents it to him for observation. “The tea leaves are too bitter and difficult to chew, and so the masters of the healing arts instead divined how to dry and powder them so that they may be easier to ingest and therefore work their healing on the patient.”

Retracting the bowl, she reaches to her side and presents a tiny whisk, made of wood, and proceeds in silence to carefully whisk the tea in the bowls until a soft vibrantly green froth accumulates, bubbling beautifully in each bowl, contrasting the pale ceramic glaze exquisitely. “The tradition slowly evolved, and tea from leaves became the customary practice for most, but healers and physicians will still administer the powdered tea for others on occasion. The monasteries in Jiongkai are famous for their powdered tea, like this one.” The mention of the name catches Jongdae’s attention, and he turns to glance at Han for confirmation. If Han had caught the name or knew of the significance, he makes no indication, his attention still focused on the tea master and her delicate work of slowly adding water to the two bowls. “Today we are privileged to have some brought to us by the Wang family, and I brought it for you to enjoy considering you will need your strength and energy in the coming hours.”

The obvious implication in her very succinct statement rolls into Jongdae as heavily as the fog had over the palace that afternoon, and he finds himself suddenly terribly aware once more of the circumstances he and Han are presently in. Swallowing and looking across the table, Jongdae is at least somewhat relieved to find that Han appears to be in a similar sudden return to attention, as they meet gazes and the look in Han’s eyes reflects his own sentiments. With their tea presented to them, they both raise their ceramic bowls and sip. Jongdae closes his eyes to block out the world for just a moment and focus his senses and mind to the subtle taste and unique experience that only drinking tea with such intention may bring.

The tea is distinct, much stronger and bodily than any other tea Jongdae has ever tasted, and so unique that he would not initially identify it as tea alone but rather something more, despite how it is entirely the same. Upon a second sip, the foam of the tea dancing over Jongdae’s tongue as the vegetal aroma of the drink lifts through his senses, Jongdae finds that he likes it, enjoying the cup after his initial surprise. 

“You enjoy it,” the tea master observes rather than inquires. Opening his eyes to look at her, Jongdae finds her expression pleased, a small smile at her lips as she watches him keenly.

“I do,” he admits, setting down his bowl, the larger object somewhat awkward to him to use for something like tea, but he elects to respect the practice none the less. “I believe I may have a new favorite drink,” he smiles at her, hoping the comment will appease her and expresses his gratitude at the care she shows for the tea itself and its preparation. 

“I am pleased to hear it,” she says, her eyes bright as her smile widens. “I am sure the young master Wang will be delighted to hear it as well at the gala this evening. Perhaps you can discuss the subject when you make your acquaintance.”

“I am sure we will discuss it,” Han says before Jongdae can reply, setting down his own bowl and offering the tea master a smile. “Among other things, I wanted to personally express my thanks at his masterful handling of the acquisition of the Jiongkai territories with minimal conflict and disagreement with the powers there, though one would expect nothing less of a man of his personable nature and considerable skills. It has not been an easy task to coerce Jiongkai into negotiation, let alone the terms that were finally agreed upon.”

“It is indeed a great fortune,” the tea master agrees, nodding as she looks between the two princes. Jongdae, aware that he has little to nothing to contribute considering his ignorance on the matter, sips at his tea, listening intently. “Almost as great as the alliance you two bring with your marriage to one another.”

The remark has Jongdae startling, nearly choking on the sip of tea he’d just taken, and he stills, trying to compose himself as readily as he can without making it apparent that the comment had shaken him. Across from him, Han’s amicable expression has darkened slightly, though his smile remains, spreading cooly across his face as his eyes begin to harden in distance. “Almost indeed,” he says, setting his bowl of tea back upon the table. “We are indeed fortunate to not only have agreed to such a beneficial alliance, but to find one another to be such pleasant company for one another and in good natured familiarity with one another.”

Jongdae forces another sip of tea past his lips, the choke still lingering in the back of his throat but he fears if he doesn’t force himself to drink, he will say something he may regret. The tea is warm in his hands, and it spreads through him, though the warmth within is less pleasant and calming than the porcelain against his palms. Across the table, Han appears to be avoiding his gaze, despite also looking acutely aware of Jongdae’s hard and poignant stare directed at him. 

“Splendidly put, your grace,” the tea master says with a graceful nod. She reaches out and carefully collects Han’s bowl before turning to Jongdae, a hand held expectantly for his own. “I would offer another but I am also aware that you both must prepare for your appearance at the festivities tonight, and further events to follow.” The smile on her face is now a bit more deliberate, and while drinking his tea had offered him some delay and protection from the looming prospects of the coming evening, Jongdae finally relents his bowl to the tea master’s hand with a grateful smile.

When he speaks, his voice is slightly raw, the catch from his startled choke on the tea leaving his words rough and rasping. “Of course,” he says, catching Han wince across the table at the sound. Clearing his throat, Jongdae smiles at her, hoping to convey his gratitude. “Thank you for your services this evening. Perhaps we may invite another ceremony in the future.”

“Over indulgence will only result in the loss of the novelty of such things,” Han says, though it sounds more like he’s reciting than proclaiming. The remark still draws and sour note of resentment to the back of Jongdae’s throat, lingering with the slight ache from his throat catching. 

“A wise sentiment,” Jongdae says somewhat through his teeth. The tone seems to catch Han’s attention even further, as some of the distance and cool from his features shivers for a moment and threatens to fall. “Is such a proverb of your own device?” 

“My mothers,” Han says, but avoids further speech by looking to the tea master and nodding to her. “Thank you for your services. My husband and I must prepare for the gala this evening.” Dismissed, the tea master gathers her things carefully yet swiftly and departs with a final bow. All the while, Jongdae had watched Han intently, some part of him enjoying the stiff edge to Han that was surely caused by Jongdae’s attention and commentary.

“Are you so eager to spend time with me, enough to dismiss her when we have yet hours to prepare?” Jongdae finally asks, knowing the truth but making the remark regardless, if anything to see the continued response from Han.

Instead, much to his disappointment, Han takes a steadying breath before turning to him, giving Jongdae his full attention, once more composed. “Creation,” he says, the word familiar but still somewhat foreign to Jongdae’s ear.

“What?”

“Creation, not device, is the correct word I assume you meant to use,” Han says. Surprisingly, there is no tone to his voice, no scolding or derision or superiority in his words, and his eyes are similarly neutral as they look back into Jongdae’s. “Considering your pursued interest and the vigor with which you apply yourself to studying with Master Wu, I could only assume you would appreciate small corrections when they presented themselves. I did not intend to offend.”

The comment, and the intent behind the comment, so shock Jongdae that he, momentarily, is left speechless. It suggests a number of things; firstly, that Han has been, despite his significant absence, paying attention to Jongdae relatively closely as of late. Secondly, it implies that he is intentionally offering assistance towards a field he had previously refuse to participate in Jongdae’s own growth and development while within the palace and in his role as the husband to the crown prince and therefore a member of the court, expected to engage and participate in matters of state and, eventually, council. The sudden reveal of these small yet significant details so startles Jongdae that it delays his response, something which Han clearly notices and which draws a small amused smile over his lips.

“Yes,” Jongdae finally says, hastily attempting to recover. The warmth from the tea lingers, and for a moment he feels slightly flushed. “I believe that is the word I wished to employ. Your mother must be a very wise and verbose woman.”

“She was,” Han says, and before the topic may continue, he pushes himself to his feet, rising swiftly and turning from Jongdae. His shoulders appear stiff suddenly, and as Jongdae looks closely, he can see a faint hint of pink rising against the back of Han’s neck, reaching to paint his ears a delicate rose. “We must prepare for the evening. I will have Chittaphon and Guanheng collect you for your bath. I have already informed them of the attire intended for you this evening and the styling they should prepare you with when you have finished.”

“Oh,” Jongdae says, once more thrown at the sudden shift in behavior. For a moment, there had appeared to be a softening, a commonality and a brief warmth between them, something which began to pull at Jongdae as Han’s demeanor towards him revealed itself, and the sudden loss once more leaves him feeling isolated and cold. The warm heat that had begun during the tea settles, along with the sense of anticipation Jongdae had been carrying all morning, fed by the tense emotional atmosphere in the palace. “I see.”

“We will process to the event together,” Han tells him, pausing by the door and looking back to him with an unfamiliar expression. There is little time for Jongdae to attempt to identify or process it before Han is turning, leaving him in the room, his robes still spread about him and the small charcoal fire for the iron tea kettle flickering gently beside him, offering the only warmth left in the room apart from the dull radiant heat that had settled in Jongdae’s chest.


End file.
